It's so strange the things that will take me back, or throw me forward, in time to an emotional place that I'm still not really sure how to handle other than with tears.
I was listening to some country song on the radio the other day on my way home from work. It was some song about a young couple in love (what else would a country song be about?) and heard some line about looking toward the future together. At that moment, I felt the sadness rush into my soul with such force that it literally ripped the breath from my chest. I haven't felt that intense knock-you-out pain for quite some time. Perhaps I'd just bottled it up somewhere and it needed to come out...whether I wanted it to or not.
When you are first in love...first married...first facing the world together, you look forward without hesitation. There is an anticipation that is so sweet that it far outweighs any fear and reservation that you might feel. No matter what happens to you, you are together and you know that you are building a life somewhere in the future together. You look forward...certain that whatever lies in front of you will be better than what came before.
I don't have that anymore. I'm not sure Steve does either. We look forward as much as we can. But we always have one foot firmly rooted in the past. Not only do we know how bad things could go, we are always painfully aware that the future will never be as sweet as the past was. That thrill of looking forward is tempered with the keen awareness that it will never be the future we dreamed of. That future is gone forever. We will always look back with a longing that makes the future a little less exciting.
I feel as though I cheated him. I cheated Sam. I cheated everyone we love. And I KNOW people will reassure that it wasn't my fault. But really, I am responsible for that black mark on our future.
Standing in TSC, I asked Steve if he was going to buy me a rosebush for Mother's Day (per my annual request). He said he wasn't sure I wanted to celebrate Mother's Day this year. I told him, "Well, I AM still a mother, even though I dropped the ball on that one little bit." Not so little, was it?
This Easter I bought a bunny garden stake for the cemetery. Oh, how I took for granted the "my first easter bunny" I bought for Sam. I should be buying one of those again this year. Not a cemetery decoration. Never in my life did I imagine I would be visiting my child in a cemetery. But then again, I doubt anyone ever imagines visiting someone they love in a cemetery.
I just can't help but think about all the plans and dreams. What would he look like now? He'd be starting to walk, wouldn't he? He'd be learning to say words. But he's not. And he never will.