Processing the messy mommy tears

I am drowning myself in a box of grasshoppers (the chocolate and mint cookies, not actual insects....) right now. My nose is plugged and I am pretty sure that as I write this, my shirt will become more soaked in tears. I might even need to wring it out.

What brought this on? Katie is going to Kindergarten. I always said I would never home school her. That I needed to be the mommy and not the teacher. And I firmly believed that. We struggled in that regard. Sitting down and trying to teach her her numbers and letters, how to read or count always seemed like pulling teeth. And then she would get it. I remember the first time she drew the letter A. I was in shock. A few weeks ago she pulled out a book and began reading it. Actually reading, not just reciting (she does great at that). Again, I was in shock. At her kindergarten assessment the other day the teacher told me that she aced it. She kept trying to convince me that they would be able to teach her and help her continue to learn. I think she was worried I'd want her moved up or something. I know she is smart, but again-shocked.

So with having wanted her to go to school so bad and knowing from praying about it that she is supposed to be in public school, why am I sobbing my heart out?

I think in a way it is connected to loosing Gracie. If we hadn't lost Gracie, I think that would still be sad about Katie going to Kindergarten. I would probably sniffle a little when dropping her off. Feel a little tug on the heart as I watch her grow up. But loosing a child changed that for me. It changes a lot of things.

At first, I didn't want to believe it would. I was adamant that she and I both needed this. When I found out that they offered full day I was ecstatic. So was Katie. (Really, it was quite funny. We both interrupted the "lets get ready for kindergarten" meeting back in April with fist pumps and excited yells when they mentioned it.) But that night something bugged me. I pushed it aside. After all, I had months before I even needed to consider it. I swear I still had a month just yesterday. But no. Yesterday marked one week til her very first day of school.

Back in June I began wavering on full day. I tried to bully my through it. Tough it out. Over-exaggerate the need for her to be gone from the house. This past week has been super rough with her. And I recognize that now as being that I am trying to push her away, to make the separation less painful. Picking up on every little thing she does wrong and trying to make her change, worried that she will be hurt or misunderstood by others.

At back to school night we learned that full day was all they would be offering. No half day option. It hit me like a bag of bricks. As much as I wanted her to go, my baby I brought home from the hospital 5 years ago will now be gone for 7 hours a day. 7!!!!!!!! It didn't hit me then. I went into momma bear mode. There was a specific teacher I wanted her to have. I made sure to request that of the very understanding principle. (I also left a note for the principle reminding her after Katie's assessment the next day- just to be sure). I walked Katie through the classrooms. We practiced walking down the hall to the bathroom. Talked about what the rules were and how to obey. Checked out the gym and cafeteria. Practiced lining up outside. And of course played on the playground.

But still I worry. Have I done everything I can to prepare her? What if I missed something? What if I did something wrong? What if someone hurts her feelings? What if she doesn't feel like she can trust me enough and wont tell me if something goes wrong? WHAT IF I WASN'T A GOOD ENOUGH MOMMY?!

I failed Gracie. My body couldn't protect her, couldn't care for her, so I had to bury her. Mommy failure to the max. I have failed Katie. I can't teach her, so I am sending her away. Also mommy failure, mommies are supposed to teach. 7 hours. I loose 7 hours a day with her because I have failed her.

I edited this a little because I sometimes think that it needs to look good. That there are things that shouldn't be talked about or written, but that's not being truthful. So being truthful: As much as I know that there was nothing I could have done for Gracie and that if there had been I would have done it in a heartbeat, sometimes I feel like I killed her. That I was the reason she died. There are a lot of reasons why I feel that way. And they will probably do better for a different post because this one is way emotional as is and I can hardly see through my tears, but this is real. I know I didn't. I know it was God's plan. But there are times when I totally feel like it was my fault. And it hurts. A lot. And so now, I feel like I haven't done everything I could have for Katie. That I lost time with her. That I wasted away time. And because of it, now I have to send her away. It's my fault. I am sending her out into a world that is admittedly pretty cruel and she will probably be hurt throughout her learning experience and it is my fault.

While I understand that these thoughts and feelings are not truth, sometimes they still need to get out. I don't know if it is the same for other angel mommies or mommies in general. Maybe it is just me. But this is the real me. The me that is sobbing her eyes out right now knowing that I only have a few more days with my kiddo before she goes to school. (I will be unavailable all day next Wednesday. My face will be getting reacquainted with a wet pillow case.) This is the me that will look back on this in 6 months and go "seriously? Girl get a grip!" The me that will probably repeat this when Kotah goes to kindergarten. It's not a pretty me. It's not composed or strong. But its truth. And another building block in my life. The imperfect, beautifully broken and healing and fully (well, trying at least) trusting in God life of Sarah.

Cookie break. And my nose needs to be blown. And speaking of Katie, she just walked in at 11:40 pm. I think I'll snuggle with her tonight instead of sending her back to bed tonight.

What 7 months looks like

I missed last month. Literally. I missed 6 months. I completely forgot. The whole day. It wasn't til my mom ( who lovingly texts me each month- who also forgot) texted me the next day that I even registered that it had been 6 months.

And honestly, I wasn't heartbroken over forgetting. I was dealing with a sick 2 year old and running on no sleep. I was living in the moment. I chose not to beat myself up over forgetting. We'd just had the headstone placed. That act was very finalizing and healing. A physical manifestation of her. A solid proof of her life. I didn't have to remind the world that she has a place in it. I didn't have to worry anymore about things going missing from her grave and that it would leave her unmarked, unimportant.

And so last month as I realized I'd forgotten, I smiled to myself, took off my broken heart necklace and placed it lovingly on her shelf. My heart is not missing a piece. It just had to break to grow, to allow a place for the HUGE piece of Gracie.

Cleaning time last week I decided to go through the things on her shelf. I know that over the months I have held onto things that are a little illogical and I figured I was ready to organize. I started with the box of grave decorations that have been accumulating. It wasn't so hard. Other than her Easter egg basket which we will continue to use, everything went. Katie and Kotah played with the broken fake flowers and dismembered windmills all day. While they did that I began going through the other two boxes. The letters, the books, the Christmas ornaments I wanted to make a lot of, but only made a few, the tiny teddy made out of scraps of blanket fabric that we used until our Gracie bear was ready. Dried flowers (I almost thought about getting rid of those, but I'm not there). The candle warmer and extra wax. Excess stickers from decorating her casket. Then the main box. The one that holds her blankets and clothes. The medical bracelets. The measuring tape showing she was 8 inches long. Her teeny tiny diaper. Her molds.

The mom that forgot 6 months was reduced to a puddle of tears. Even writing this, it is surprising the emotion that can still be evoked. I'm not sobbing, but my eyes are teary and my throat is tight. The only things I could throw away at the end of the day was the broken grave decorations. And those were the only things that needed to go.

Healing looks different to everyone. Healing doesn't mean having nothing but happy feelings for what happened. And it doesn't mean completely ok. It could be laughing in spite of pain. Trust in spite of hurt. Eating something besides EL Fudge Cookies and Orange chicken. Forgetting a milestone. Allowing the tears to come instead of pretending to be strong. Strength is in being real.