Whiplash.

      I've been making changes in the house this week. Simple things that make the difference but really shouldn't matter in the least. I'm trying to retire those possessions that have outworn their usefulness, starting with my old pregnancy pillow. It had seen better days, days when it was new and bright white and full of stuffing and promise. Now it is ratty and pilled from washing and wear. After its last trip through the laundry, it is out of shape and worthless. 
     In its stead, I found my king-sized pillow and reinstated its position on my bed, encased in clean cotton and plumped up with haughty power. Last night I laid my head down on that firm support and sighed, cozied in with the window open and the down comforter grazing my shoulder to keep out the cool night's breeze. If you had asked me first thing, I would have told you that I slept well. 
     I didn't exactly wake refreshed though, and as I sat in my chair, sluggishly coming awake in the morning chill, steam wafting my way over my cup of tea, I plugged in to my daily reading. I started with my Timehop. It seems that last year I was quite verbose; I had found my voice and was plodding through grief with my words. I haven't gotten there quite yet this year, to that point where I am ready to delve into my soul and break my thoughts down so openly.

 I want to do it and yearn for the release that I know it can bring but I haven't seemed to find the place to jump off, the beginning of this year's story is mangled up in the wreckage of last year's ending. 

     I stood up from my chair, brushing past Henry's rocking bassinet where he was nestled for his first nap. My empty mug deposited on the counter in the kitchen, I stretched and yawned, aware for the first time that I was stiff as well as tired.
 My neck hurt. My head hurt. My heart hurt. Does the saying go,"I felt like I had been hit by a truck."?  
     I think that is where I'm at these days. I've been hit hard by life. I always thought I was in control, safely belted in to the driver's seat with my foot on the gas, speeding down the road into the life ahead of me. After Griffin died, I stepped on the brakes, content to watch others pass me by, not ready to take the wheel again...somehow I was moving this year though, perhaps in the backseat with someone else steering. I got used to the scenery flashing through the windows and must have mistaken the view for something I was driving, made the mistake of feeling slightly back in control when WHAM! I was blindsided by my life. 
     Since Henry was born, I've had such a case of whiplash. Last year, this year. Son #1, Son #2. That birth, this birth. Griffin, Henry. That rupture, this rupture. January 25th, February 8th. Funeral, Baptism. 

Death, Life. 
     
     The pain still exists. My neck hurts. My head hurts. My heart has a hole and yet is so full it hurts. I can't stop looking in the rearview mirror now, comparing the past to the present, mixing up my feelings about the future with my memories of the past. I didn't want any of this. I am trying hard to rescue myself from it. I may need to borrow the Jaws of Life to make it out of the wreckage but I'm working on it. 

                                               

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