A Matter of Time

Our language has wisely sensed the two sides of being alone. It has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word solitude to express the glory of being alone. ~ Paul Tillich

I have been weaving in and out of lonliness this last week. It seems as though the moment I start to allow myself to be comfortable in one of the spaces created by solitude, that is when I am guided into its counterpart. Like intimate dance partners that trade off, I am held tight by loneliness  and then handed off to solitude for the next song. Sometimes I wish I could just sit this dance out.

I had my first public meltdown this week- I have heard so much about them and knew that it was only a matter of time.  I was at Old Navy buying my first pair of post maternity jeans. The children's section is next to the dressing room. I have walked by children's sections plenty of times since Mateo's passing. But this time was the time that set me off. This time was the time that the little shoes and the little hats were too much to take. It was all just so sweet and I wanted to buy Mateo something so bad. I know that I could have, but I already have a bag of cute little things he will never wear. I could have bought something and gifted it but I wanted to buy it for my baby- and my baby is gone. I wanted to throw a tantrum right there in the children's section. I imagined myself with a cart full of baby clothes and the giant belly I would have had only a month away from giving birth. I put my jeans down and went into the Old Navy bathroom, went into a stall and sobbed. I just cried and cried. For all the things I've missed and for all the things I am missingand all that I will. This very dimensional pain comes at me from every angle. I sort through it piece by piece but there is always some heartache to contend with. Always a piece to sort through.

I found out today I cannot have Mateo's headstone placed until I finish paying off the burial costs. Never mind the thousands of dollars already paid. That's the nature of business. That's the business of making money off of dead people. Making money off my dead person.

I am still trying my hand at grief meditation- allowing myself to be present with all of it and time and time again opening my eyes and realizing that I felt it all and I lived through it. I live through it.

"Don't let them say, I wasn't born
That something stopped my heart
I felt each tender squeeze you gave
I've loved you from the start.

Although my body you can't hold,
It doesn't mean I'm gone.
This world was worthy, not, of me
God chose that I move on.

I know the pain that drowns your soul, What you are forced to face.
You have my word, I'll fill your arms Someday we will embrace.

You'll hear that it was "meant to be,
God doesn't make mistakes"
But that won't soften your worst blow.Or make your heart not ache.

I'm watching over all you do,
another child you'll bear.
Believe me when I say to you,
That I am always there.

There will come a time, I promise you When you will hold my hand,
Stroke my face and kiss my lips
And then you'll understand.

Although, I've never breathed your air, Or gazed into your eyes..
That doesn't mean I never "was"
An Angel Never Dies"

~Author unknown