Tiny boy...

My days are usually filled with many motherly duties that I do not connect with Declan at all.  Since I never brought him home or changed a diaper...I have nothing to connect him to here.  (Well except maybe his belongings and pictures)  But day to day things...there's not much.

When Declan first died it was though everything yelled at me, "He should be here!"  "He should be doing this!"

It has been a long time since I thought that way.  Then yesterday as I was unloading the kids from the car it struck me so hard...I should be grabbing a toddler.

I pictured myself reaching in and unbuckling my little buddy.  I would balance him on my hip while I shut the door that Bryce had left open.

It took me for a terrible "what if" ride.  My "easy" life without a toddler.

Sometimes I honestly think, "That really wasn't me!"

It was just a terrible nightmare.  I'm just chronically stressed for some ridiculous reason...not losing a child.

I had a few girls over at my house the other day for an activity.  They asked me how many kids I have.  I told them three.  They can count so they asked why I only had two.

I rattled off what I always do.

I was surprised how bad my heart hurt after I was done.  Usually I can get through my vague and non-traumatizing version of my loss.

Two years?!

I'm almost there.

This time of year I notice I sleep less, I'm more emotional, and easily become overwhelmed (well okay maybe the last one isn't true, I'm always overwhelmed).

I watched a show today about a girl who lost her second child.  She was pregnant with her third baby and hadn't told anyone.  No one had really extended to her help through her loss...so she didn't trust them to help her with the terror of a third pregnancy who's due date was the same day she lost her last baby.

It worked out and she was able to explain to her friends.

But as she sat there crying how frightened she was...I felt the anxiety there with her.

Life becomes so strange...at least it did for me.

Blame.  Loss.  Frustration.  Torture.

I had a hard time leaving my house.  I had to...and still do...have to push myself out the door.

I have always had anxiety.  But pushing myself to not let this make me a hermit is REALLY hard.

I went on a trip with my husband this year and left my kids with a grandma.  It was so hard.  I had to force myself to say yes, leave them, and board that airplane.

I had fun.  I knew I would.  But pushing my family out of our little bubble takes almost everything I have.

Watching that show made me realize I'm not alone in my anxiety.