it has rocked our little world, both zach and i do not seem to know what to do. he was dear to us, the best in everyone we knew - kind and gentle, always smiling and willing to help his friends do anything. working full-time, he still carried a 4.0 in school and wanted eventually to be a lawyer. he still managed to show up to trivia every Tuesday and whip our butts more times than not.
tonight is his viewing. tomorrow is the funeral. i am not ready for either.
it feels, in the words of my husband, like the sound got turned down on the world. things have shifted sideways, and it might take awhile for the world to be righted - if it ever is.
i've spent the last four days rocking and holding Owen, who decided about ten minutes after we found out about Josh that he didn't need to sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time unless being held. and so i hold him, rocking in the rocking chair that was my mother's before i was even born, watching him sleep while tears stream down my face.
i want this week to be over, i want this week to have never happened. and more than that, i want to be kinder and talk less smack. i want to focus my life, to care about what's most important and not worry about the rest. i want to walk through life with a smile on my face, letting the little things seem to slide off me.
i want to be more like this man that i knew was awesome, but never told.
i've shifted a few things around on the blog. needed a bit more simplification, needed white space and clean lines. needed order in the face of the chaos i feel right now. as i shifted things around, i realized i was going to do the same in my real life, one thing at a time. i cleared off my bookshelves. next i packed up all my maternity clothes. i've set up a plan for my knitting (i'll share next week, hopefully), and will be re-organizing and paring down the office next week.
in the face of chaos, sadness and unwelcome change, i pare down. i clean and organize and cry all the while. and in this case, with this level of grief, the pare down and clean out and simplification may be extreme. and maybe that's just what i need.
and in the midst of this sadness and grief, i get to hold Owen. Owen, who decided he needed to be held all the time, looks up at me and smiles and coos and giggles. sticks his feet in my face so i will eat his toes and he will giggle again.
i know he is too young to know these things, but i am grateful that this week he needs to be held. because i need to hold him, to be reminded that in the midst of this terribly unfair thing that happened to Josh, there is still goodness and peace and kindness and love. and for me right now it's wrapped up in a seven-week-old boy named Owen.
and when he doesn't need to be held, i knit. i knit and knit and knit, because while i cannot bring peace to Josh (who i am certain is at peace in heaven without a doubt), i can bring peace to others.
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