Left foot. Right foot.
But he didn’t die so it changed things.
I didn’t need to find the receipt so that I could return one of the two bags of dog food that I had purchased the day before or cancel his rabies shot appointment. Yes, these were the things that I was thinking as I was preparing for his death. You know, all the things that I had to do to pretend like death happens and life goes on and it’s no big deal. Next chapter. Except that while everyone does die and life does go on, death is a big deal.
I know that I do it.
I do it because if I think about how sad my life is without these important beings in my life than it takes a little piece of me. Each and every time. And by the end of it all, I’m a shell. A puzzle with missing pieces. So, I try and make it not important.
Except that doesn’t work for me either.
I worry that it makes people, most importantly The Kids, believe that Alexander wasn’t important. Isn’t important. That I don’t think about him. But I do. A lot. Sometimes I correct people when they call The Kids “Twins” while other times I let it go. I feel like I should be kicked out of the baby loss mother group for never knowing what to say to people that have lost a loved one or because I try and come up with benefits to their death. Yes, I just wrote that.
So, I muddle along.
Hoping that people can read between the lines of hurt and survival and find empathy in the life of a Mother that has lost.
Death should come with a manual.