For almost three years, I had only been in my own home on one occasion without the swishing of the vent, the occasional alarm, and the sounds of Benjamin with his toys. Now, I am left with silence during the day. A silence that can be so painful that I have to hold my fingers in my ears to avoid it. I have never had alone time, nor did I want it. I was so dependent on Benjamin’s presence.
Grieving has been a confusing process. I assumed I would cry all day everyday, but I don’t. Most of the time I feel numb…not sad, or happy, or worried, or anxious… Just numb. I’m numb until a trigger happens. Then, I feel completely heartbroken.
I’ve had my numbness broken by a few occasions…having to return Benjamin’s equipment, occasionally wanting to rush home to hang out with him, panicking during day thinking I missed his feeding time, and when I realize there is no reason to rush home to see him after picking up the kids from school or gym. The feelings of anger and sadness come rushing back, as well as, the selfish feelings of missing him even though I know that he is in a wonderful state in a wonderful place.
Along with the numbness, I have so many fears and concerns…1. Will people forget about him? 2. Will I forget the little things about him… His squishy cheeks and the feel of his beautiful hair? 3. Will I feel numb forever, or will I turn into a sobbing mess? 4. Will I always have this pain in my heart? 5. Will Lennon and Isla be able to remember how awesome Benjamin was?
In the silence, all I can do is pray. Pray for strength not only for me, but also for my kids and husband. Pray that we will continue to live by the lessons Benjamin taught us. Pray that others will also be renewed by Benjamin’s story. Pray that one day, the silence won’t be so painful.
Benjamin has been able to occupy some of our time with what we call “Benjamin’s beautiful distractions.” The heaviest snowfall in years only a few days after Benjamin’s procession to Heaven was not coincidence. Our new favorite song coming on the radio right when you think you might want to fall apart is not coincidence. A sweet note or gift being dropped by the house on those days where I am so afraid of the silence that awaits me is not coincidence. Just like Benjamin took care of us when he was alive, he is still caring for us today. We are so honored to have our own little guardian angel watching over us and occasionally telling us “it will all be ok” with “Benjamin’s Beautiful Distractions.”