Stillness

The stillness consumes me. Every little effort seems to take so much energy. I want things quiet and still...very still...like my baby. But I want to scream and throw things...smash...break something.

I have green yarn. I bought it before we knew Travis was Travis. It would be suitable for a boy or a girl and I was going to make a hat, sweater, bootie set for him. I learned how to make them after Alex died and I thought it would be a perfect way to honor him and welcome his little brother. I remember smiling as I grabbed it off the store shelf. I tucked it away in the crib that was never taken down after Alex died (first because we just couldn't face it...then because we had foolish hope). Now I have this green yarn... It will be too sad to make something for Travis' memory box. It will be too hard to make something to give to charity. I've taken it out of the crib and put it in my sewing basket. I've taken it out of my sewing basket and held it in my hands at least a dozen times since May 8th. But ultimately, I put it back in the basket, stuck in my indecision. I am frozen...still...over this damn green yarn.

And the crib...good God...that crib. With the brand-spanking-new, never-been-opened, crib set with smiling barnyard animals on it. They mock me, I tell you. I gave Alex's crib quilt away because I thought it would be good to send it to a home where there were only good memories associated with it...and somewhat healing for me. Now what? I can't get rid of the crib...it has good Sam memories attached to it. But I hate it. I want to chop it up and burn the pieces. The mattress, bought with money so lovingly sent from online friends...for Alex...wrapped in that protective plastic that mattresses come in. But I can't move to do anything about any of them.

The purple bear, the rattle, the sleepers and gowns...Things surround me. Yet I am still. I can't do anything.

It's an odd sort of calm. Maybe the calm before the storm? I think maybe it is. I think it may be time to throw open the bolt on that door and let the storm sweep through me (and my house). It's time to move on...to some sort of fresh beginning. It's time to end the stillness.