The lights turned back on sometime over the summer. I don’t remember it exactly, but I do recall looking around at the world one day and thinking, “Oh. Those colors are nice.” It was like the switch flipped. No more gray tones overshadowing everything. The timing kinda sucked b/c half of my summer break was already over. But I’m happy for it nonetheless.
Maybe it was around the weekend that I lost my Fiona necklace in the harbor. Doug, Kyle and I were swimming one evening – as I adjusted the hammered silver medallion, the little silver loop that held it on the chain broke open and the whole piece came off. I tried to grab it as it glimmered its way down to the harbor floor beneath. But no. Not fast enough. I didn’t dive or try to look below the water’s surface to find it. I didn’t panic. I don’t know if I even really tried all that hard to catch it. When I we came out of the lake onto the dock, I unhooked the chain and cast it into the water.
Something inside of me changed again. Maybe I was practicing some more “Letting Go.” Maybe I figured it was time to stop clinging onto it.
Doug just put Kyle to bed tonight. Baby cried for about 10 minutes on his way to Sleepytown. I washed vegetables in the kitchen and prepared our lunches. I’m grateful my husband is the conductor of the Sleepytown Train. It reminds me of when I used to put Kyle to bed – he’d fall asleep nursing in my arms as I rocked him in our glider. I’d hold him for a half hour or so after he was asleep, cuddling him on my chest, feeling his breath, listening to his sounds, smelling him, caressing his back and head. Kissing his cheeks. Very gently running my index finger along his soft, tiny little lips. He was so incredible.
I cried every single night for several weeks as I held my sleeping baby. Maybe months. As I’d carry him to his room, I’d hold him a little closer. Kissing him one last time, before whispering to him, “I love you. Please don’t die tonight. I love you.” I’d delicately place him in his crib. Holding the railing, looking, wishing I’d held him just a few minutes longer.
Postpartum Depression was rough on me. It, like my grief, had several shades and hues and different manifestations – mixed in with the lingering grief and anger – sometimes I still wonder how I got out of bed every day and functioned at all!
It was so hard. I really, actually, honestly thought I would feel like that forever. I just sort of resigned myself to that as my new normal.
It is better now. Maybe my hormones have settled. Maybe I’ve “Let Go” some more. Maybe just watching baby grow and change and thrive over the past 10 months helps.
Honestly, I let him eat food off the floor now. There was a time that just the thought of letting other people come into our house and share our air would send me into a germaphobia panic attack.
We’ve come a long way baby!
Whimsical Rumination 