My Eyes

My eyes have seen enough for right now.
Actually about as much as I think they can handle at the moment.

I look at my eyes and where I used to see laugh lines, funny freckles I've had since childhood, and the inherited "family circles," I now see grief, hurt, exhaustion, worry.

It's been a month since losing my dad in a hospital very much like the one I sit in now with my son. The sounds, the smells...down to the bed that is so very much like the one where my dad took his last breath. Ultimately I know that we will work through this with my little boy, but it doesn't make the "getting there" any easier. And being "stuck" here doesn't make my desire to run around like a crazy person, screaming at the top of my lungs and kicking things, any less so.

My eyes have not seen real sleep since March. The "family circles" have become dark, sunken in pools of sadness and anxiety.

Just two days ago my eyes got to watch my beautiful little girl, my amazing first born, become a school girl. The day was compounded by so many layers of emotions. Immense pride, nervousness for her, sadness over seeing my "baby" grow up too soon, and hurt that I couldn't share this moment with my dad.

After her class began, I left the school. I began to tear up as I walked to the car. I called my mom to tell her about the event, and after I did that, I called my dad's cell phone because in that moment I wanted more than anything to tell him about "Kiki Haye's" first day of school.

As I listened to his voice tell me he was unavailable, I began a conversation with him in my head. My eyes let the waterworks run as this conversation unfolded. I could hear the excitement and pride in his voice back to me. I could hear him say like he has so many times before, "She'll be gone before you know it. It's sometimes hard to see it right now where you're at, but these really are the best times of your life - what you're living right now."

And in so many ways these truly are the best of times as I have the ability to be astounded every day by my little ones. And to be blessed with my friends and family. And at the same time, the continually compounding issues, losses and hurdles can sometimes cloud that vision.

I'm trying really hard to keep my eyes clear through all of this. My ability to do that made my dad proud, and it is what my kids need from me. Just two weeks before dad died he said to me, "I don't pray for Kaitlynn. She's just like you and she's going to be fine. I do pray for Grady, because I think he's going to need a little help."

So even as I sit here listening to my son's breath as he sleeps and watching his oxygen saturation levels with hope, I feel like dad is here, too, because like he said, Grady needs a little help.

My eyes are about to take a much needed rest, if possible, in a few moments.
As for everything I see in and around my eyes at this time in my life, I'm so thankful I don't have time to look in a mirror very often. Pity parties suck.