CPR

This is proving to be a really tough time. They warned us in the grief group that grieving is not linear: you don't start feeling better and just continue in a straight line until you feel like yourself again. And those stages of grief they tell you about: they don't come in any order, and you never really finish any one of them, except the last one. They just keep circling about and drop in on you randomly.

This week has been all about anxiety. It's just awful. From the moment I open my eyes (often at 4am or earlier), I feel like there is a train running inside my head. I feel slightly breathless, and like if I am not in constant motion doing several things at once, everything is going to go to hell. Even when I am right in the thick of it, getting the things done that I have deemed important, I still feel like I am running in front of a train and I just have to keep moving, keep moving. I try to take deep breaths, to tell myself I'm doing great, to remind myself that nothing is wrong (well, nothing new is wrong). Doesn't stop the train feeling.

I've also been plagued by overwhelming sadness. I'll be in the car, driving to the gym, and I'll just start sobbing, out of the blue. I have started thinking more often about my pregnancy with the boys, about my pride and excitement knowing they were thriving inside me. Even in the hospital, when the writing was on the wall, I couldn't see it at all: I only had eyes for my sons. For their squirming fish movements, for their ultrasound escapades, for their nightly game of Marco Polo when the nurses would try to do their heart monitoring. My little Mer-men.

And I am still in complete disbelief that this wonderful idyllic story ends in complete crash and burn tragedy. That my sweethearts are no more. It is just about the loneliest thing in the world, even amidst all the love and support that I am lucky enough to have. I am deeply, profoundly lonely without my innocent, fabulous boys. And I'm beginning to suspect that part of me always will be.

Whenever I get too lost in this loneliness, I drive on over to my brother and sister-in-law's house, and dive into their children. Today I shocked the Nanny by showing up completely unannounced: she is new and has never met me. Sophia answered the door and shouted: It's Auntie Lisa! Clattering, clamoring, and now Max and Spencer join her at the door, along with the perplexed Nanny. "Hi, I'm Eric's sister Lisa. Sophia, am I your Auntie Lisa?" "YES!" "Max, am I your Auntie Lisa from this side" (as I turn to the side) "YES!" "Spencer, (as I turn completely around) am I your Auntie Lisa from the butt-side?" Huge laughter and screaming: yup, I said butt.

And so on and so forth. Today we played lots of make believe. Max decided to be Mr. Obama (I kept saying President Obama, but he didn't catch on), and dictated that I was Michelle, and Sophia and Spencer were the girls. I was impressed. Next they switched over to being dogs: I fed them imaginary treats and taught them tricks. Spencer did an impressive impression of a dog begging for treats. I gave him imaginary hotdogs and he was thrilled.

Lots of hugging and tackling and I regret to say licking (remember the dog game) later, and the sadness was beaten back a bit. Someday, years from now, I'm going to have to thank these gorgeous children for the CPR they do weekly on my soul.