still

It's January and it's cold, so, so cold, yet the rose bush that blooms over the memorial stone with Charlotte Ava, May 14, 2010, etched within is budding and blooming as if summer is just around the corner.  It's her rose, there must be some significance, some meaning behind the fact that is has bloomed continuously since her first birthday. 

I wonder if it will continue flowering until her second birthday, a mere four and a half months away.  Another May, this one two years after.  Bright, spring days, in May, plenty of rain too.  No matter the weather, rain or shine, the day will keep coming.  One year after another, time racing ahead so that she should be one becomes she should be two, three, four, five ...; already the time she has been gone exceeds the time she was here by so much the gap cannot be bridged.

My focus has shifted, but I still struggle.  There are still ups and downs here, for both of us, times of profound sadness when the grief overwhelms us as it has done thousands of times before.  I don't cry on the 14th of every month, no, not anymore, but seeing that number still hurts.

Charlotte's death has affected Bennett's life.  Sometimes my days and nights are full of, he won't sleep! moments of frustration followed by he is quiet, finally asleep - or maybe dead? moments of fear.  It's irrational yes, and not likely, but I saw her alive, and then two hours later I held her and she was dead, so in my mind babies can go from here to gone quickly, suddenly, unexpectedly.

Stopped writing, went for a walk, came home, read over ... goodness this is bleak.  On the way home we were walking and Bennett was fussing.  I finally stopped, pulled him out of his stroller, stuffed him in my down vest, and continued walking - one hand on him, the other on the stroller.  He laughed and laughed, stuck his tongue out, chattered, so happy to be in my arms and free from his stroller.  He reminds me of all the good in life