In a Rut

(WARNING: There’s a lot of rambling and somewhat incoherent thoughts in here)

Seems like every day is the same. I feel like I’m stuck on high center. The wheels are turning, but we’re not going anywhere.

I still follow a lot of blogs written by grieving parents. Some have an amazing ability to write down what they feel, what is / was happening in their lives. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit envious of that. People that know me know that I am pretty quiet. I’m not very vocal about anything. Evidently, that trait bleeds over into my writing.

Some have quit writing for one reason or another. I can understand that. I can’t seem to find anything to write about either. So, I guess I’ll write about not writing.

I tend to either keep my thoughts in or deem them as not anything worth sharing. Nobody wants to read about my drive to work this morning. No one wants to read about me sitting at my desk all day trying to focus on the job at hand. Since Mason passed, I feel like I’ve got a sudden case of ADD, and focusing on even the simplest of tasks can be difficult. Putting my un-divided attention into something; yeah right, that’s not going to happen.

I don’t have a boring life. I mean, it’s pretty un-eventful, but not boring. I don’t sit around the house with nothing to do; there’s always something to do. I’ve got 2 gorgeous children at home whom I adore. They keep me plenty busy. It’s just the same thing, day in and day out. I know, I know. That’s the same thing everyone else does. Why should my life be any different from theirs? I’m just bitching about being normal.

I want to go back to the way things were before. We still had a less than glamorous life, but we had that life with Mason. Now, it’s the same life without him. His smile and laughter have been replaced with infinite sadness, anger & doubt. I know it was hard on him, but there’s not much I wouldn’t do to go back to the times of annual biopsies, occasional trips to the er and the fear of catching some types of viral infection that might send us to TCH for a few days.

I just can’t get out of this rut. I KNOW that I’ve got lots of things going for me. I’ve got a beautiful loving wife, 2 kids that mean the world to me, a great job, nice house and for the most part I’ve got a great life. But it’s incomplete. There is a huge part of my life that is missing. I was trying to explain this to someone the other day. It’s like having a brand new, one of a kind, sports car. I should be flying down the highway with the top down having the time of my life. But I can’t. Why? Because I’m missing a wheel. I can’t go anywhere. Everything on this car is immaculate. Perfect. But, missing a wheel makes this car useless. This wheel can’t be replaced. So, my car, my life, my family, sit on the side of the road with our hazard lights on. Battery is dying, the flashers are fading, it’s getting dark.

 

I sure miss you, Bubba.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “In a Rut

  1. It’s in your extraordinary life that I find myself immediately interested when I see you post something Kevin. It’s in your abysmal grief and the fact that you’re brave enough to share it that I click on your email alert. You are not living a “normal” life. Normal took the nearest exit when Mason’s health changed, and normal left the planet when your sweet little boy died. Normal is children outliving their parents. By the way, the car analogy was beautiful. Please keep writing.

  2. Thank you for following my blog Kevin. I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope you keep writing, even if it is to repeat what you’ve written. People need to understand that “there’s nothing else to say” is a part of grief as well. Wishing you peaceful days.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s