Too much, too fast

My husband, who really is a very smart man, made a very smart observation yesterday.

As mentioned before, I am stuck in a deep rut of depression, overwhelmed by everything from  dirty dishes and laundry to birthday packages for my mother that I can’t seem to pull together.

There are reasons for this depression, or at least contributing factors. My dear aunt died in July, leaving a giant hole in my heart. My career, which once looked like a very promising path for a very promising writer, has stalled. I am too busy to properly dote on my children and too tired to work on my own projects that could potentially place me back in the realm of “promising writer.”

So instead of some things getting done, nothing gets done. I feel like a talentless failure and a self-loathing mother. I feel worthless and sad and ugly and scattered. I can’t pull it together.

Anyway, back to my husband’s observation.

“I think the reason for your feelings right now is because Clark is growing so fast and hitting so many milestones,” he said. “I think it’s because you are seeing him do these things and missing out on the things you aren’t able to see John and Drew do.”

He’s sort of right. We are planning Clark’s baptism, which is great for Clark, but it’s one of the millions of things planned for two little boys who aren’t here. In the middle of the baptism planning, we are also planning a funeral for Drew, who died nearly two years ago. Old wound, fresh hurt.

But Clark will have milestones every day for the rest of his life. He’ll walk and teethe and run and play baseball and go to school. He’ll go to prom and college and get his driver’s license. And John and Drew won’t. And nothing’s going to change that. So what do I do? How do I pull myself out of this? This pool of sadness is wide and deep and hard to navigate. And I don’t want my living son’s life to be such a source of the deep.