Home is where the heart is?

A couple of months ago, we put out house on the market.  Our house is a home we planned to be in for a couple of years before the economy went bust and now a two year home has turned into a five year home.
Moving is something we always intended to do...but recently I've been wondering about the emotions behind this decision.
I've written a lot about how comforting it was to come home after we lost Rip, and how much being able to go into his nursery has helped me.
Even though Rip was never physically in this house, his memory is everywhere.
If we move will he still be in the new house?
On the other hand, I hope to have more children.  I left this house pregnant with Rip, thinking I was coming home with my baby...and then I didn't.  I don't know if I could leave the same house, pregnant with another baby, and truly believe that child was coming home with me.
Like everything else, there are so many mixed emotions.  My hope is that home really is where the heart is, because I know that's one place where Rip will always live.

Letting it all hang out

I got my haircut today.  The appointment was with a stylist I'd never met before, and for the first ten minutes or so we did the usual small talk, where are you from, love your shoes etc etc.

The whole time I was thinking about Rip, and about how strange it felt to be discussing such trivial things while having these deep, emotional thoughts. As she was shampooing and chatting, I was looking at the brightly lit ceiling and thinking about what I would say if she asked about kids.

And then she did.

Ever the suave one, I turned bright red and fumbled around and said no...but then I just couldn't.  So I told her about Rip and it felt like a dam breaking loose. She said how sorry she was and I said thank you and the conversation moved easily from there. I didn't feel strange anymore, it was like now that my big "secret" was out in the open, I could be myself again.

I know time may pass and that immediate need won't be there, and there will be people I won't feel right sharing with...but then there are the times when you need to let it all hang out. I know there will be moments when I won't feel right talking about him, but I needed Rip in the room with me today, it was so much easier once he got there.

Time Marches On

I have always been a little dismissive of people who like to wallow in the bad, who love to bring up the terrible things that have happened 5..10..15..20 years ago no matter what else has happened in between.

I still don't believe that is the best way to live my life, but I guess I have a little more sympathy for those who live in the past, because time flies whether you are having fun or not.

Recently, I was talking to a friend who just lost a grandparent.  One thing she said she was most surprised by was how quickly life moved on as normal.  I know exactly what she means.  My birthday this year was a week after Rip died, and to avoid seeing anyone we knew my mom, sister and I went to a Burger King to grab lunch.  It felt so unreal, how could I possibly go through the most horrific thing I could think of just seven days ago, and today sit here and eat a cheeseburger?

It's the best and the worst part about grief...life goes on.  Your insides very rarely match your outside. You don't really get a definite point where life stops and then you move on, you carry it with you.

So I understand why the need is there to bring up the past, I hope I am talking about Rip's life 5..10..15..20 years from now...but that he is remembered as what he was, pure joy.

You've Got to Cry a Little...

Crying is a necessary evil, whether you are grieving or not.

There are plenty of reasons why I don't like it- I'm not a pretty crier, my eyes inevitably end up looking like little brown M&M's when I'm finished, I usually end up exhausted or with a headache (if not both), and it makes my mascara run.

That said, I've learned over the past year that it is so much better to cry than not.  It really does release something inside that needs to get out.  Each tear I've shed has been with a purpose. The times I've tried to hold back lead to a huge cry fest somewhere in the near future, but the times I give in I find myself strangely peaceful afterwards.

In high school, my friends and I used to call a crying session a "mental breakdown"...but honestly I think releasing tears builds you up more than it breaks you down.  Crying is just another step helping you to look life in the (albeit puffy) eye.

There is a time for everything...

Lately, the issue of timing has come up a lot in my life.  I have about 3 or 4 major life-changing events I am trying to get started (I subscribe to the "go big or go home" way of life) and as I mentioned, patience has not really been my strong suit lately.  I've also mentioned general distaste for time as the answer for all things.

After Rip died, one of my first thoughts was that I could not go home and see the nursery.  My family spent the month I was in the hospital getting it all ready for us to come home, and I didn't know if I face something else that was supposed to be happy and would now be just another sign of our loss.

I eventually decided to leave the nursery as it was, and I have been so glad that I did.  For the first month all I could do was go there to cry.  Eventually I started sitting there, in my great-grandmother's old rocking chair, and talking to Rip.  Over the past six months I've been visiting the nursery more frequently, recently I even took time to look at the baby clothes I'd never seen, and it felt like some loose end was finally being tied.  As the months go on, my eyes are opened to what I can handle in that room, it's been a huge part of the healing process for me.

So, I think there may be a lesson I can learn about time and timing from that nursery.  I still don't believe that time heals all wounds,some are just not meant to be healed...but maybe if I can learn to trust that time, and timing, will open my eyes to what I need when I need it-and not a minute before, patience (or at least less impatience) will follow.

Social Butterfly to Roly Poly (and back again?)

My whole life I have kind of been groomed to be a social butterfly...cotillion, debutante, sorority...you name it, I've done it.  I've always been on the quiet side, but before we lost Rip, I rarely found myself in a situation that I could not talk my way through.

It's different now.

As time goes on and I find myself at more and more social events, I feel more like a roly poly than a butterfly.

Sometimes it's because I see someone I saw when I was pregnant, don't know if they have heard about Rip, and feel like I have to hide to save us both from an uncomfortable (and sometimes upsetting) conversation.

Other times it's meeting someone for the first time and steeling myself for the "do you have kids" conversation...even if it never comes I spend the whole time wracking my brain deciding what I will say if it does.

And even when it is the people I know best, I can be in the middle of a conversation and be hit by a memory I'm not prepared to deal with.

I feel like I am curling up in a little ball each time, using some invisible protective shell to keep out anything that may inflict pain.

I guess the best way of putting it is that I feel vulnerable.

I can't use the whole metamorphosis metaphor here, I don't know many roly polys who turn into butterflies...but I guess I'm hoping to be the exception.

Patience: A Virtue I No Longer Possess

There is an old favorite family story that I have been told many times over the years.  Evidently, when I was approximately two-years-old, my parents went out and left me with a babysitter.  For some reason the babysitter sat me in a rocking chair and told me to stay while she went and did something for my baby brother...and promptly forgot about me (we can only hope this was the last time this particular sitter was used).  Anyway, about an hour and a half later, she realized her mistake...she found me still in that rocking chair, just happily sitting right where she left me.

I don't know what happened between now and then, but patience is a virtue that I no longer possess.
Over the past six months I find myself increasingly impatient with people, places, and things.  Nothing seems to happen fast enough for me,  I want things to be constantly moving forward and pity the person that should stand in my way.

There are probably all sorts of psychological reasons for this, but I'm sure I don't know what they are...I also know all of the sayings about slowing down, taking it day by day, but if you've found a way to do that successfully please fill me in.

I don't have an answer or solution for my impatience, its just how I feel right now...and really, there are worse things.