The Stillness of the Morning
Updated: Jan 8
The stillness of the morning hours is something that I used to love. I remember spending so many days sitting on my back patio or my front porch at different times in the past watching the sunrise while enjoying a cup of coffee. I always looked forward to everything that morning meant, the beginning of a new day, a new chance to tackle something that I was challenged by the day before, or even just the idea that we could wake up each and every day with the mission to be the best that we can be.
I no longer feel this way about mornings. I don't like going to bed because I know that morning will come. Morning is the reminder that you are really gone. It is the time that I awaken from beautiful dreams of us together and am forced to face the fact that you will never again be alive in a room with me on Earth. Each day brings the fact that there will be another day on Earth without you, another day where I feel the longing in my soul for you, another day that is a painful reminder that life must carry on without you even though it will never really feel like life with you gone. It is a reminder that you are not going to come running into our room, crawl into bed with us with your big pink bear, and snuggle up to go back to sleep. It is a reminder that I will not get to hold you in my arms and feel the warmth of you and your beautiful heart beating. It is the reminder that everything around me is a part of a new reality that does not include you, my littlest love.
The stillness of the morning has become a time that I can hardly stand, a time that I have trouble bearing, a time that makes me want to curl up and scream, a time where I literally have to tell myself to breathe in and breathe out, a time where I often take showers, curl up in the corner with the water keeping me warm, and cry until I feel as though there is nothing left to cry. I NEVER took long showers, but these new showers last so long. Perhaps being homeless and not having a place to call my own is a part of the problem. Perhaps the fact that we can never get her back is just too strong when there is no noise, no human interaction, when I am completely alone in the mornings.
I sit here with tears knowing that the mornings used to hold such joy for me. They used to hold joy as I helped my kids get ready, watched them become independent choosing their own lunch items when they went to school, or picking out their clothing. I remember so often wanting to stop time as they were growing up way too fast. I never imagined that I would have needed to stop time to save you. I never thought that I could lose you and that pain is just so unbearable in the mornings. I know now that you will never come running into my bed to wake us up and I long for that to happen again. I miss waking up to you more than I could ever miss anything in my entire life.
It has been 18 devastating and emotionally draining days since I last gave you a kiss, last felt you kiss me, and last heard you say "mommy, I love you." I still have moments where it is hard to believe that it is true. I still have times when I hear something that breaks me, like the woman in the stall next to me at the gas station bathroom who was on the phone with her child and I heard that small child say "mommy, I love you." I will never again get to hear you tell me that you love me here on Earth. I will never again feel the perfect fit of your small hand in mine while we walk across the street or out of a store to our car. I will never again get to hug or kiss you and that is the most painful and unbearable thing on earth. I do still hug and kiss your remains, but it can never be the same as hugging and kissing you. My sweet Adeline, mommy loves you so much and knows that you are with her, but I miss having you here. I miss everything about having you alive and with me.