The Big News

I have 11 cartons of Girl Scout cookies in my car.

Oh, wait. Sorry. Day 22 of Whole30 and sugar is still my #1 kicker on this.

So that’s not the big news at all (in fact those cookies are to sell). It has to do with Zimbabwe, me, the boys, these past nearly 3 years, and my therapist.

Like some kind of a random riddle.

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The Price of Love

It’s 11:30am here. We’re all on the couch, Jynx curled up on Bella’s lap as she plays with her animals. Sam is playing SkyRim. On Saturdays I usually get up before him to tidy up the house, so now it’s rather clean and I’m pleased.

We had a very, very hard therapy session yesterday. Sam goes with me each Friday and we have art therapy together. At first I thought it was going to be pretty dumb – would I be drawing pictures of sad faces and having them interpret colors? But the more we get into this, the more challenging it is. It’s not about the process so much as it makes us use an entirely different part of our brain. I usually end up crying about things that I thought I was pretty much over, or remembering parts of the past two years I haven’t thought of in forever.

It’s not magic or anything. In fact it’s pretty incredible how our brains are designed. I’m even more awed by our perfect creation through this.

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Back to Start

Today I headed out on the 40 minute drive over the west side of El Paso (did I mention this town is gigantic?). I went because, once again, Bella is headed back to play therapy and the first appointment is where we meet her therapist.

Last time, she had our therapist. We both saw her on different days, and she was wonderful. This time, due to her schedule, Sam and I will continue to see her but Bella will move to a new counselor that we’d briefly met and liked before.

The drive down kept triggering all those times I’d driven us there the past year. Grieving my twins. Announcing my pregnancy with Kaden. Heaving myself in and out of the car to get there and back.

I pulled up to the office and thought, “What the hell is going on? Why, oh why God, am I here again?”

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Grief Weary

I don’t know why this little spot has become so hard for me to write in lately. I sit and stare at this screen, thoughts racing of, “You’ve already said/written that. No one wants to hear it again. Move on. It’s been a year.” I am only able to write one day of the hospital story because the others are still overwhelming to process.

And yet…

One week from today is the day my water broke with the twins. The day my life changed forever, and yet there was still more of that to come.

I saw my therapist this past Friday and as we chatted about how I was doing and our little boy (now 22 weeks!), I struggled with this feeling that seems to underly all my emotions lately.

“I’m so tired of grieving.”

Instantly the guilt poured down on me. I explained (although she knew) that it wasn’t that I was tired of my sons or their story, but I was tired of the rest. The constant struggle to get past these thoughts and memories that still bring a lot of heartache. I wish somehow the grief process could be sped up – and I’ve wished that since I lost them. Like you just wake up one day and can think about what you lost without it smacking you in the face or causing you to have to re-process it all again.

There are days like that. More and more. It’s just soooooo slow and in the meantime there is a part of me that would like for this to be over.

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Today is a therapy day.

I look forward to these. And I know that might sound strange, because apparently there is a stigma to seeing a therapist among some people?

I wouldn’t know. My dad is a counselor/therapist and we grew up talking to each other like we were in therapy sessions – deep, serious, life altering conversations that challenged us to look at what both others and ourselves are doing and why. I mean, not all the time. But more than a “normal” family might – whatever normal is.

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