ATTENTION: Before you scroll down or open up your blog reader, be forewarned that there is a beadbaby picture below. I have to post it. I need to. And I make absolutely no apologies for it either. If you don't want to see it, don't read this post.
I have been good. I haven't been overly emotional. I haven't really cried, even at our support group on Thursday night where there were two new couples in the group. Other than the slight, unexpected things that make me sad, I have been okay with my grief. I feel like I'm making progress and I am "growing" into a stronger person. That being said, I feel like I'm taking one step forward and two steps back. Let me explain, I often look at the boys pictures. I have them throughout the house, on our entry table, in the office, I have them rotating through our screen saver. I see them all the time. But last night, I was organizing the pictures on our computer into their appropriate folders. I opened up Jack's folder and browsed through them. I was okay looking at them. I opened up Sam's folder and I was okay until I saw a certain picture. A picture that I have seen many, many times. But last night it spoke to me.
The kinds of tears that fall down like a heavy rain storm, that you can't even breathe through. Tears for the sadness on Mr. H's face and the loneliness in his heart. Tears for the vulnerability in Sam's body. Tears for the helplessness.
And here comes the rain again.