I can’t really describe this funk that settled upon me since leaving the hospital.
I relayed to My Love that I’d painted this perfect little picture of the moments I’d share with the new family and how those would feel. But the reality is that reality happens.
Other people are living in the picture, and other needs and feelings and goings on are happening.
My picture got scribbled upon. Oh poor, poor, pitiful me.
Yeah. It’s like that. I’m processing it, preparing to put the hurt aside, but I’m allowing the feelings to marinate just a bit first. I’ll not share them, you see. So before I tightly contain and seal them up, I need to feel them – that way they won’t fester and become some ugly wound.
We’re the family members who reside farthest, so I had it in my mind that we’d have a good portion of touch time before we parted. But those who live close angled in for their firsts at the same time and mommy and daddy got a bit overwhelmed. Time for everyone to go.
But those who live close will be able to resume quickly, where we’ll need to parcel out time and funds from our schedules and pocketbooks to make another run.
No blame there. It just is what it is. Reality.
Not what I’d had in mind, silly me.
So I’m oozing emotions today.
On the bright side of those funny little emotes, I saw the man who is my son stand tall and proud this past week. I saw his capable hands change a diaper, saw his jaw set firm with concern for his wife’s well-being, and saw his compassion flesh out as a bright shining thing. I saw his impatience as well, the niggling little allowance of we intruders. He’s fully entered his own now, and that – that there – that makes this mom proud.
Painful as it may be.