Chronicles Of A Stay At Home Mom cylas romalise: CT cylas grief love loving children romalise
by Mommy Hobbies
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In my napsack stash
‘but not as much as tomorrow’
It’s been a while since I’ve done a journal-of-my-thoughts type of post. But with the recent events in Connecticut, I needed a way to release my mental build up.
I haven’t even let myself openly grieve for those precious children. My eyes have welled up with tears, I’ve stared aimlessly out my windows, or I’ve closed my eyes and wept inwardly. But I’ve not sat and openly cried. Today I almost did though. It’s complicated, me and grief. I have a very bad relationship with it. It’s not treated me kindly at all, so I will spare you all the details and just ask you to have compassion for the way I process traumatic experiences.
My son brought a well of tears to my eyes this morning, however, during breakfast. He turns to me as we were eating our oatmeal with eggs.
Cy: “I wonder what we would do if a stranger came in our house?”
Me: ”What do you mean?”
Cy: ”Well, like, if someone just came in.”
….my mind finally makes the connection and his story continues…
Cy: ”Mama, my teacher picked me to hide because I was the smallest. No one could see me except for a piece of my foot. ”
Me: “Why were you hiding?”
Cy: “In case if a stranger comes. They told us to hide in our cubbies and behind our coats.”
His eyes are wide, the deepest of browns and very earnest as he shares his story. All of the children are to listen for their principle’s voice over the loudspeaker telling them there is a stranger in the building, once they hear this they must hide as quickly and quietly as possible in their cubbies and behind their jackets. My son’s life as a first grader. Going through safety drills that could possibly save his life if, God forbid, a deranged, gun wielding person were to enter their school.
My oatmeal didn’t want to go down. My eyes searching his little face looking at the innocence which is him. He shouldn’t have to worry about these things.
Me: ”Oh, Cy, you’re the best hider, you make sure you hide really well, ok?”
He nods his head and smiles. His favorite game is hide-n-seek. Both he and Roma can lift the roof with their laughter when we play. All I can think of, “God, just protect my babies.”
Naturally, I am an impatient person. Lately, I don’t care to recognize that part of my nature. I full embrace every moment, irritating, joyfully, worrisome, painstaking, patience-trying, silly, sad or hurtful that my children have. There are not enough hours in the day to love my children as deep as I do. There just aren’t. It seems like I can not look at them long enough, hear their voices enough, hug them tightly enough, or let their little hands ruffle over my curly, puffy hair enough.
The way I’m processing my grief is to pour as much of myself into my children in their every waking moment. I will exercise patience like never before and embrace the lessons therein. A small price to pay I think…