It’s Still There

Overall, my life is really good. How could it not be, with this precious face smiling into mine each and every day?

But those little pockets of grief exist. And occasionally they bubble to the surface when I’m least expecting them to.  I went to the gym this morning and as I was walking in, a young woman was checking in ahead of me with a cute little girl. I smiled at the girl, who was shyly tucked behind her mom’s leg, and as her mom turned around she said, “Oh, aren’t you Lauren’s sister?  The one with the twins?”  

In hindsight, the easiest reply would have been a simple “No.”  But me, being the chatty cathy that I am, went right in for the full explanation. “Yes, I’m Lauren’s sister. But no, we never had twins—we moved here in 2008 when we were expecting triplets, but that didn’t work out.” Or something to that effect. And then I was crying, suddenly, in the middle of the gym. That poor woman. She must have been mortified, wondering why in the world she’d opened her mouth in the first place!  

I stumbled on, “Oh, we’re okay. Things are great! We have a beautiful son now.” Tears streaming down my face. The acquaintance of my sister tried to make conversation, asking how old Tatum is now and about his name, but really, how are you supposed to have a normal conversation with a person whose eyes and nose are streaming tears and goop in the middle of the gym?  

I had to turn away and hightail it over to the treadmills, where I discreetly turned to the wall to take off my coat and warm-up pants and hang them on a hook, wiping the tears away as I disrobed. It was just so unexpected, to stumble upon that fresh well of grief when I wasn’t looking. Of course I know the sadness is there, I just don’t allow it into my life very often. Perhaps I should. I do miss the boys. I still mourn our chance at raising them, at knowing them. Of course I wish they were here. 

I clocked a good 5K time. Under 25 minutes, inching ever closer to the 8-minute miles of my youth. Nothing like running away from your sorrows to make a girl feel better. 

Sigh. But not really. As I sit here writing this, the tears are still streaming. I haven’t felt the sorrow of the boys’ death in a while, and I think I need to sit here and feel it for a bit.