Boy, today got rough. Again.
I've worked on a quilt, and that felt good.
But I realized today it's been 3 weeks -- THREE WEEKS, since I had Jacob and lost him.
What is it about grief that makes you feel like you've lived FOREVER but a part of you feels like it was just YESTERDAY?
A sister-in-law sent me an e-mail a few days ago about the loss of her husband, and the resulting grief that followed, along with a story about the "prayer blanket" that she had sent me at Christmas.
In my resulting response today, I told her about how our griefs compared -- just that we shared that first experience of having to tell ourselves to breathe some days. Then I told her about the dream I had of Jacob. By the time I got done with that e-mail, the first tears of many flowed.
Then Brian came home and we talked a short time. He's going to a friend's house tonight, and as much as I wanted him home, I also wanted him to see the friend who's coming in from out of town who he doesn't get to see very often. He really needs time with that buddy of his because I think he's one of the few he can really talk to.
So I went to the fabric store after Brian left, and bought some more material so I can hopefully make quilts a couple more of these quilts.
By the time I was driving home, the song "I Hope You Dance" by LeAnn Womack came on the radio, and I was in tears. I had listened to that song so many times during my pregnancy with the expectation that I could hold my baby some day and sing that song to him.
Instead, the song is now only for me. And I have to find a way to dance again.