Three months. Ninety days.
Those are not an equal equation.
Ultimately, this whole journey is about one day at a time. One morning. One meal. One cup of coffee. One bedtime routine. One hour at a time. One more day completed.
It's about doing it again, starting over tomorrow.
Ninety times, so far.
Some days have felt endless, a gray cloud following me. Icy snow in my yard and in my spirit.
Some days have brought sunshine, unexpected rays that fell upon my face, my hair, my mind.
But as one day streamed into the next, somehow one month passed. And then two. And now three.
Ninety days passed slowly; three months escaped too fast.
How is it nearly April? Three months of life without Robb here. That's just a really long time, and since I don't know the mind or the timing of Christ, I can assume that these three months were only a drop in the bucket of how long I will do this without him.
I see signs of healing; my heart sings more often, and the days of despair no longer come in sequence. I cry less than I once did, but I am learning that this is sometimes because I have run dry. Sometimes I wish for the cleansing of tears, for the relief of a good cry.
It's strange to put myself to bed and think, "Wow. I didn't cry today," hand in hand with, "Man, I wish I had."
It's really one big dichotomy.
I feel oddly torn between wanting to fast forward to a safer, cleaner, sorted place where things make sense, and the alternate desire of wanting everything to slow down.
My mind can't recall his laugh as easily. I fear time will take it away.
Tyler turns four in a month. I have always loved birthdays, particularly my children's, but part of me wants him to stay three. He was three when Robb was here. I don't really want him to get older without his daddy here to watch.
Three months... too fast. I never wanted to say goodbye. And now goodbye seems further and further behind, drifting into 2010 now that one-fourth of 2011 has marched on, whether my heart kept up or not.
Ninety days have passed slowly; three months escaped too fast.