Things time can't heal

I'm sitting in our new breakfast nook, wrapped up in a fluffy brown fleece blanket while basking in the warm winter sun filtering through the double-wide bay window in my kitchen.  I just kissed my babies goodbye and watched them walk briskly to the bus at the end of our drive way. Before they left, they were singing spontaneously again. I can think of no better measure for happiness than the sound of a child bursting into song. It's a sound we hear often, and for that, I'm beyond grateful.

Life is good. Really good. I am acutely aware that I need to embrace these fleeting moments, but I'm finding it difficult to let go of the past in order to be fully present.

We moved a couple of weeks ago, and with any major life change, there will always be unforeseen struggles, even in the midst of a seemingly seamless transition. One of the resounding thoughts that I had while we were gearing up to move was that we effectively bookended the girls childhood. No matter what happens, their foundation is as thick as the poured concrete that has helped our old house stand steady since 1922.

I brought them home from the hospital to 6 Gannett street. I watched them take their first steps on floors that now support other peoples daily strides. We measured their tiny bodies as they grew little by little, on the archway between rooms that others will likely paint over. Their first utterances, their last diapers, birthday cakes, report cards and countless other milestones will always be there. All of the words that were so tough to read, eventually rolled off their tongues after many years of reading while snuggling in beds that are now in a different home.

As I sit here racking my brain to try and understand the uneasiness that I feel, the only thing that I can come up with, is that I will always be broken. There are some things that time can not budge. Beyond the fear and anxiety that has become almost routine as I take each step down a Kaplan-Meier curve, are the wounds that never seem to heal.

I see a picture of one of my many loves, and I'm dragged back into the insanity of their hospital rooms. Without going into detail, suffice it to say that I will always be there, looking into their eyes for the last time, trying desperately to hold them as they slip through so many hands locked in a futile grip.

Life is good, it couldn't be better. I've never been better. But I've also been steeped in so much sadness, that even a simple ray of light warming my back brings me to an instance in time when life was terrible for someone I love. I guess that our move made me hyper-aware of feelings that I had become accustomed to. When cast in the light of a new back drop, I guess I can see crystal clear how deep those wounds really are. Time has done many things, but it hasn't magically healed me. But, I am grateful for every moment that I get to spend here contemplating it!