These first couple of weeks without Bea have been really hard and I spend a lot of time trying not to think about what happened. But every day, several times a day, a small reminder presents itself. Sometimes I have a happy memory. More often than not it's a time for another cry. What an amazing release crying can be. It's exhausting but it gives me permission to collapse when I need.
The little things that set me off are ridiculous in their miniscule nature. Like realizing that her colorful socks aren't in the wash that I'm doing today.
And sometimes, less often, I think of the gravity of what happened to Bea and realize what both of us lost. That's the really hard part. The reality that makes me lose my breath. Because intellectually I know what happened to Bea. But my love for her is visceral. It's more than just a feeling.
Even through all of this our family has made it through the last couple of weeks. We went to Savannah for a few days. That was hard but I think no matter where we would have been... well, it would have been. Chris went back to the office. I'm back to working from home, designing and making art. Lewis is back at school. Eva sleeps on her favorite chair in the kitchen most days.
Lewis is an amazing little man and has been asking questions about Bea now and again. Understanding death is difficult for him but today he doesn't appear to be grieving. He doesn't understand that death is finite and even asked once how to make someone feel better after they die. I feel that he still thinks Bea is going to return. So, we're keeping a watchful eye and plan to get him into play therapy within the next few weeks. He's not the most verbally expressive kid so this kind of therapy may help him understand the realities that are confusing to him and help him sort through his feelings when he does begin to understand.