The house is pretty much completely packed and empty now. The movers came last Friday. It’s been a week of adjusting, going between two houses, and finding the time to settle into our new home. I’m excited, truly, but I’m also sad.
Parker and I moving to the new house.
I’ve found myself feeling completely shattered this week. My heart is in a million pieces, some too small to gather. I know they’re too small because I’ve tried. I’ve tried all week to unpack the pieces and put them into theyre new places. I’ve tried to place some of the pieces into storage bins. I’ve even mailed a few pieces (that will always be attached to Parker’s belongings) to new homes this week. And there’s pieces that I know will never leave our old house – no matter how hard I try. The tears have been present all week – at all times. I’ve broken down even when trying to keep them at bay. I’ve cried more this week than I have in months.
The silence has become my enemy. I’m scared to turn the tv off at night because that’s when I can no longer breathe, when my chest starts to hurt, when the pain becomes sobs. The music cannot be loud enough when driving in the car. When I don’t know the words to the song that’s on, my mind immediately drifts off to Parker and the tears are right behind.
The move is good, what we need. But the new house has three rooms, not four. The new house is just an example of the finality of all of this. A reminder that Parker is no longer here – there’s no longer a need to have a room for her. I know I’ll get used to it but I think it’s going to take longer than I originally thought. But this finality of this move also has me feeling angry, the natural, grief-makes-no-sense kind of angry. And I not fine with the angry part of grief. Though it’s natural, I feel it’s the selfish part of grief. The anger comes from what I want, how my life has been effected, what I’ve lost, what I’ve suffered, what I wish life was now – and those are selfish things. Parker was given to me for a reason. He took her back for a reason. Her life was not lived in vain, I will make sure of that. I also have to trust in that, in His reasons.
Today I left more of my shattered heart all over Parker’s old room. I opened so bags that I haven’t opened in a long time, almost 2 1/2 years actually. Today I found the stuff from Parker’s funeral. Fresh tears landed on cards of condolences – right along side old tear stains from the first time I read them. Then there was a few envelopes, in a plastic bag, that I didn’t remember, with her name typed on the outside. I opened it and found something I never thought I’d see again – my daughter’s hair. A locket, one perfect curl, sealed in a tiny ziplock. I had too many emotions to count. I found myself, once again, on my knees – saying ‘no, no, no’. I pleaded – with what, I don’t know – but I remember that same plea, that same voice, that same emptiness that came moments after Parker took her last breath. The hair was accompanied by her foot print. I honestly don’t remember her feet being so small. But how can I forget that? How have I let myself forget anything about her?
I then found a copy of her funeral – that the officiant apparently had typed out and given to me. Reading over it, I’m not sure if I was present that day – mentally. The words I read – that he spoke that day – seemed foreign to me. I felt I just went through the motions that day, but it must have been worse than I thought. I remember I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I think I had disconnected myself so much – for my own sanity. I found the words that I wrote, but couldn’t speak that day. Someone read it for us. I’m not even sure who. Our thank you for the support, for loving our daughter, for coming to celebrate her life. Celebrate the life that i cherished more than my own.
So please understand that today I’m mad. Today I’m hurt. Today I’m broken And shattered. Tomorrow is new. Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I will wake up and hopefully remember my purpose, my desire to keep her legacy alive. Tomorrow I will sew my shattered heart back together, patch it as best I can. Tomorrow is a new day. But today I’m shattered.