Today I am attempting to take part in a discussion inspired by Merry's most recent blog post. Honestly, at this moment, I've no idea what it is I want to say.
Words dried up here some time ago. These pages no longer feel like a safe place to go over and over and over again just how much I love and miss Florence.
Like Merry, I predicted back in those early days that this blog would gradually become less about Florence as time went on. It never really was a blog just for her anyway.
I tried that, I started moving all the posts about her over there...it's still a work in progress, too painful to continue, and too hard to delete.
As we approach Summer, and what would have been Florence's third birthday, I think I can say that we have accepted her loss as part of our lives. She is woven in to everything, so present, unyet so very distant.
Ernest is a joy to us all, he is so very full of life, and my goodness, I wish I'd had him when I was younger, that boy wears me out!
He'll be two soon. I still marvel at his aliveness.
Last evening as I was trying to make our bed, and he was leaping all over the duvet, and shouting "wheeee!", I thought back to that scrappy little screaming bundle he was almost two years ago. To how worried we all were about him, how weary he looked, not ready to be born. How terrified I was until he was no longer a baby...I still get scared, but it was worse when he was a baby.
Life now is busy, really busy. Each evening I fall into bed, bone achingly tired, and although I do long for some free time to relax, I'm too scared to wish for it.
The truth is, that I'm ok, really ok, but equally and often, I'm not ok with being ok.