As I was wheeling my grocery cart out to the car yesterday, in a bit of a foul mood because I'd trailed a woman with a baby boy all the way through the store, it dawned on me that maybe part of the reason I'm sometimes consumed with sorrow and envy is because I've put myself directly in the line of fire. Working from home, and homemaking when I'm not working, means I'm in a suburban world all the time. I never leave it, and the only people who reside here with me during the day are old people, stay at home moms, and moms on maternity leave.
I'm in their territory 24/7. We shop at the same time, avoiding stores filled with weekend shoppers who have no choice but to cram their carts down crowded aisles with the rest of the commuters who can't get to the store any other time. We cross paths constantly during the week, me and the moms with living children.
This realization made me feel infinitely better. I'm sometimes in awe of My Beloved who doesn't seem bogged down with the weight of grief and envy in the same way that I am. I know he misses Thomas every bit as much as I do. I see the sorrow in his eyes when he thinks I'm not looking. But he's not functioning on a day-to-day basis in a world where Thomas' absence is palpable. There's a Thomas-sized hole in my back seat, grocery cart, and hand.
We should be together while Daddy's at work.
Instead Daddy's at work and I'm here without Thomas. Working, yes, but still in the same place we would have shared had he lived.
I certainly don't mean that My Beloved has it easier than I do. He works like a dog while he's away from this mom-filled suburban world, and I absolutely know for a fact that there are Thomas-sized holes in his life too; ones that I'll never fully understand because I can't even begin to fathom what it must be like for a man to lose his only son.
I just think that maybe some of my healing is being hampered by geography, that's all.
This is an interesting thought that took three years to come to me. The challenge now is to figure out where to go from here.
Ain't that always the way?