March should just go away

I woke up at 3 a.m. about two weeks ago. Something was nagging at my brain, and I couldn't pin it down. So much had happened in the last few months: I'd quit my 9 to 5 in order to be a stay at home mom with too many side hustles; one of my side hustles was pretty big for about a month and ate my life alive; I had ambitiously ripped out the contents of several closets and every kitchen cabinet to "get organized."

But all of those issues are in the positive column. My problem with February was that March was coming, and it was bringing feelings with it.

March 2018 is a lot different than March 2017. I'm in therapy once a week now and it's WORKING. I take a mood stabilizer that is WORKING. I'm happier and more rested because I'm NOT WORKING.

"It's going to be OK this year," I told myself. "This is a good place to be in."

Last night I couldn't fall asleep. My brain pulled and flipped at memories and anxiety. My restless rest was interrupted by Clark, who somehow lost a Pokemon stuffed animal at 2 a.m. and needed immediate assistance. I found Charmander, and then Clark needed milk and snuggles. I had another panic attack, and the morning found me before peace did.

At about 5 a.m., I fell into the thoughts I had been trying to push off. March 8 - John's death day - was upon me. Right before that is March 6 - the day my grandmother died on the same year.

My brain went KA-THUNK. Of course. OF COURSE this is my issue. This is why I'm on the verge of tears every minute. THIS is why I'm crying myself to sleep. THIS is why my brain is on hiatus. THIS is why I want to hold my children and never let them go.

John would have been 6 in July. Six years old. First grade! Learning to read, playing Bitty Basketball and rec soccer and getting ready to leave t-ball behind for more grown up things. He would be going with his dad and little brothers for their haircuts, growing out of his pants just before he really can wear shorts, chasing Pokemon on Sundays with his sister, and he would need a new western saddle this year.

There are craters in my heart where these parts of John's life should have been. I grieve them all year, but rarely do I let myself really feel them. Except in March, when I can't stop it from coming, and I feel drained of the strength I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I miss my boys. I miss the woman, the person, I used to be. I miss not knowing what a STUG is. I miss looking forward to spring. I miss simply loving my child without an intricate web of comparison to his dead siblings. But overall, in front of everything, I miss John and I miss Drew. And no amount of headspace, life changes, therapy, and mood stabilizers is ever going to change that.