Monday, May 6, 2013

Falling down stairs. Crying on a plane.

Been a long time since my stomach has hurt like this.  Couldn’t figure out what it was, then I tasted the blood from biting my lip so hard and realized it was from trying so hard not to cry, it actually aches.   And bleeds.

I guess saying “a long time” isn’t accurate.  Could have been weeks ago.  Might as well have been a lifetime ago for all the good that time means to me right now.

Today I was on a plane, flying home.  1 of 200 people.  Nothing special.  My story could be anything.  Lonely lady flying to anywhere USA.  Business woman on her laptop making the best use of her uninterrupted time alone.  A snob who thinks she’s better than anyone else with her earbuds in, not looking anyone in the eyes and wearing sunglasses on the plane. 

Any of those are better than the truth.  A grieving mother who can’t believe that a week before her due date she is only allowed on a plane because her babies died and she’s blasting sad music on her earbuds because she needs something that vocalizes her pain and she’s wearing her glasses so the tears aren’t quite so obvious.

That was me on the plane.

This was me this morning. 

A grieving mother, flying down the stairs in a rush to let the dog out before Dad picks me up for the airport, trying to juggle luggage, purse, laptop, cellphone and flat iron that was too hot to pack, on 5” wedges that are entirely inappropriate for anything other than standing there looking pretty and I slide down the stairs. Slide.  On my butt.  Luggage flying, purse flying, carpet burn on my elbow, ankle bent at an unnatural angle. 

I was doing ok on the flight.  Until I opened the shade.  A song was playing in my earbuds,

 “I know the scriptures, I’ve known the songs.  I sang the words from my hollowed heart.  But you’ve spoken softly, through the storm, I’ve heard your voice and I felt the calm.  I stand only because, you’ve given me the faith to walk, only because, You carried me, you carried me, you carry me through it all.  And I believe, yes I believe, you’ll carry me all the way home.”

I’m listening to the words that now make sense and I saw nothing but white, fluffy clouds.  No houses, no roads, no mountains, just white, beautiful clouds.  And I felt, physically, more close to Tucker and Fletcher than I have since they died. It sounds cheesy, or cliché maybe, but it felt like I was flying up to my boys.  I felt free.  I couldn’t stop the tears.  Like tears streaming like a faucet, tears. 

I shut the shade really quickly, trying to get some composure.  I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to stop the tears. 

When I opened the shade again, all I could see was white.  Not clouds but a white out.  I panicked.   I felt completely claustrophobic and if I couldn't see up from down then certainly the pilot wouldn't be able to and we were going to crash and I was going to die in a tin coffin.  I freaked and I kind of started hyperventilating.  The old man beside me didn’t know whether to hug me or order me a drink.

I have multiple personalities and they are all trainwrecks. 

I haven’t been home since last Christmas.  I haven’t seen anyone since I lost the boys.  I’ve seen some of my family in between Tucker and Fletcher dying.  But last time they all saw me I was with my family.  I was happier than they had ever seen me. My trips to KY for a long time were me running away because my life had fallen apart and I needed to get away.  The last time they saw me my life was complete and I had everyone I loved most in one room. 

This trip is different. My life hasn’t fallen apart.  Abig part of my life did.  But I have something I have never had before.  I have a husband who is coming to get me in a few days.  I have kids who will be waiting for me when I get back.  I have a life to get back to.  Not one I’m running away from.

As noble and grand as that sounds, I’m a nervous wreck.   Having a blog is all fine and dandy and some may read it, others may not, but you never really know who reads what so you may run into someone who knows everything about your life, good, bad and ugly and you’re thinking you’re just having a normal conversation but in their head they are thinking, “wow, she really does look like a trainwreck.”  “wonder which elbow has carpet burn on it from her falling down the stairs.”  “I want to tell her I know her story, I understand because I’ve been there but don’t want to look like a crazy person.” That line actually happened to me last week.

It’s all good.  If anything can be said about me, it’s this. I’m crazy, I’m hurting,  I’m broken and I’m weary.  I’m scared at every moment I’m going to bust out in tears, scared to death someone will ask me about my boys, scared to death no one will ask me about my boys….Brand comes running up to me and I realize I hadn't seen him since before I went into the hospital and I cry.  I stop for a minute and realize I'm here, my husband isn't and I cry.  This trip may have seemed benign to me before I got on the plane.  It's a whole lot more than benign.  This is a pretty big friggen deal.  I went from not wanting to be alone for a minute to boarding a plane alone.  Crying and looking a fool, but boarded the plane none the less.  

I’m certainly not where I thought I would be a week before Mother’s Day but I’m further than I was on Christmas Day so if we are taking it by holidays, then by July 4 I should be on the other side ofcrazy.


Who knows.

If you see me, hug me. Know I might cry but it’s only because if I stop biting my lip the tears flow but my stomach hurts so maybe crying is good for the soul.   Say hi, say something but please, don’t judge me.  Because my elbow may be hurt but I can still throw some throat punches your way.

Blessed because I'm here with Nana, spending some time with the people who have prayed me and loved me through my darkest. 

My ole KY home…

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