Monday, March 24, 2008
We're laughing, rolling on the floor, telling the story of the time Dave and Paul were chased by a UFO off of a frozen lake at night when they were just kids, and in the next breath I'm sobbing, thinking about Paul last Christmas, teasing Andy for not being tough enough to keep tromping up the sledding hill.
I had no idea that my heart could be so full of joy for the little person who's sitting in my lap. I keep telling Dave that I didn't realize I was a puzzle, and then a piece fell into place and it was like it had been missing my whole life.
I had no idea that my heard could be full of so much pain at the same time. There are times when I can't even picture Paul's face, the agony of it just takes over and I'm wracked with sobs.
I tell people that we're taking it one day, one hour, one breath at a time. I'm barely doing that, though. Friends have been so amazing, bringing food and coming to visit - it fills the empty spaces and when I'm on my best behavior it's easier to push the grief to the back and celebrate the happiness that is baby Gus. He is so much happiness. He's beautiful, he's healthy, he feeds like a champ and sometimes breathes like Darth Vader. We're going to make it through this, the three of us together. Sometimes it's just so hard to see what the next step is.
Dave is back at work today, and I'm doing really well. Gus and I had an awesome sleep last night, mostly 3 hour chunks at a time. I'm worried about Dave, though. Out there with all the strangers who have no idea how much pain he's in, so they don't know to be careful and sensitive with their words. At least here, at home, the only people I have to see are the ones I let in the door, so I know they'll be gentle.
One day at a time, though. Today's Monday. I don't have to get through Saturday today. Just Monday. And I have a sweet smelling little munchkin to help me.