Vacation

We are home, sufficiently waterlogged, all fudged and taffied out. It was good to get away, but I had a strange feeling of being outside of myself most of the time. I watched the kids a lot and thought, "This will be a good memory for them," or "They'll remember the time when they watched how fudge is made" etc. I wonder if my capacity for experiencing joy has been dampened since William died. I didn't feel much of anything. A lot of going through the motions, before, during and after. I planned it all and executed it (without so much as a hitch, really) and still, I never felt like I was really there.

In case you were wondering, I decided to take his photo, which has been up in our room since the first week, and a beautiful handmade card from an online friend with his name cut out on the front. I put it on the dresser in our hotel room. I found a maid looking at it once, when I went back to the room. She half-smiled at me and went on with her business, but I was glad someone noticed. 

The hardest part, I guess, was looking around at the waterpark, seeing mamas splashing with their babies, putting them in the little baby water swings, and knowing I should be doing that with William. And knowing, too, that while it was a great vacation and made some great memories for the littles... we never would have gone if William hadn't died in the first place. Our first family vacation, thanks to the death of my son.

Not to say I'm not grateful. It was a lovely, generous gift. And the kids had an absolute blast. Our little three-foot pool seems like a puddle after the water park! They didn't want to leave. It was a kids' paradise-I don't blame them! But part of me is glad to be home. I'm not scared to go out, like I used to be. I don't feel so turned inside-out all the time like I did... but still, it makes me weary. I feel like I have to be "on"... I have to try harder when I'm not home. And trying gets...old. I just feel really, really tired.

There are days I just want to lay down and never get up. There was a time I was anxious, afraid. Afraid of life, afraid of death. I'm not afraid anymore. It would be nice to see, if there's anything to be seen, where my son went. And, too, when I'm so very exhausted, I just want to lay it all down and give up. I'm okay with it, my head says. Let's go. That, I sometimes think, would be the best vacation.

(p.s. no, I'm not suicidal. I'm really not. :)