You know how triggered I've been this week. With the Newtown massacre, Christmas approaching without my sweet boy, the 19th and 23rd of the month approaching, and significant stress about finances related to selling our home. As soon as I catch my breath and start to think I am no longer coming off as the crazy woman, something hits & my anxiety comes up again. As usual, people with good intentions, or at least harmless intentions, say things that have the opposite effect to some degree. It's been one of those weeks I guess.
So this morning I was sitting on the floor at the back of Church while the choir performed a beautiful rendition of Silent Night. Jackson and I were quietly playing with his Spider Man car. "Sleep in heavenly peace." Over and over.
I'm looking down upon my sweet, beautiful boy with one eye open as he doesn't have the strength to open both eyes. Doesn't have the strength because his life is slipping from him, as he rests in my arms, in the crook of my left elbow... Now he hasn't breathed in a while, I know he's gone and the doctor verifies it. Sleep in heavenly peace Ethan. Truly.
Then I'm thinking of those poor little kids in Connecticut, sleeping in heavenly peace. Far too soon. Tears stream down my face as I roll the car back and forth with Jackson. He notices, comes to me and tells me "don't be sad mom, be happy! Ethan is in Heaven. He's right here in church!! I'll wipe the drops mom." Jackson was calling my tears "the drops" and proceeded to wipe them away with his gentle finger. Then the biggest hug ever with a slight patting on my shoulder from his hand.
I'm pretty sure kids get it right. Get it right when adults struggle to. A friend commented to me today that it is amazing that a 3-year-old knows just what to do with grief when so many adults stumble. We should all be like Jackson. Straight up love.
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