Grief in the times of parenthood

 The ebb and flow of grief, especially when parenting young children...well it's interesting. Last night the kids had a normal bedtime routine. They both got put to bed in their own rooms. They came to our bed sometime in the night, which is pretty standard for both of them. Andrew got ready for school. Caroline spent the morning at home with Chris and I and then spent the afternoon visiting with me with Gigi and Aunt Nancy while Matt and Mom met with people. 

Then things start to pile up. I told Andrew I was the one getting him off the bus after school. Except I had him walk to mom and dad's, like he so often did/does when the weather isn't bad. It was finally warm enough, dry enough, to walk to their house. We all gave him a big wave as he crossed the street into the yard. And then when he got all the way up to me on the porch, he immediately got tense, tears in his eyes. He thought I would be there at the bus stop. Then he got scared he was supposed to be a car rider at school and forgot (we don't do this often). Then he worried that he would go to Nana and Pawpaw's house and nobody would be there, or that something would be wrong.

I apologized for the confusion and hugged him. Calmed him down. Things were ok.

Then later we had to go to the cemetery to view plots. This was a ten minute, simple errand. We have taken the kids there before. They stayed in the van, but Caroline was very freaked out by being there. Throwing a fit. Screaming about being scared. For her it's hard to say how much she was just throwing a fit because she was mad she wasn't playing a tablet, or if she truly was unhappy to be there.

Back to the house to eat and play until Aunt Sam arrives to hang with the kiddos while we leave to go plan the readings and music for the funeral.

An hour later and we are back at the house, packing all the kids in the car to go home. Snacks, TV, playing...and then bedtime.

And Caroline is going wild about not wanting to be by herself, not wanting it to be dark. Sobbing and crying. 

And those things about grief creep up. For them, even when they aren't crying, or don't seem to be thinking about it, or don't appear outwardly to be sad, it's showing up as anxiety. Uncertainty. Fear. 

So...they're in my bed again tonight, despite trying to return their routine to normal last night. We can try again a different night to work our way back to that routine. 

Much like how the body has a way of forgetting what childbirth feels like until you do it again, I forget what those early days of loss feel like. The waves of pain. The moments it feels like you're drowning. The kids being confused and scared. 

But tonight. Right now. They're asleep. In my bed...and we'll see what tomorrow brings.