I'm leaving

I'm going to go hang out with my brother for a few days this week. He lives back home, about 3 1/2 hours away from me. I'm taking Aubrey with me. I have to get away. I feel like I am suffocating in this blasted house. It makes me nervous to leave David though. He's been hanging out in the pit with me this past week too, and I don't know if the alone time will do him some good, or harm. I feel a little guilty to leave, taking away his chance at smiles (Aubrey) and leaving him in silence. It's just for a few days, but black days can feel like an eternity.

I spent the day cleaning and doing weird things, like organizing how my clothes are hung up in my closet. I think I am trying to get some control in my life again, because I also tried to kill weeds that I normally don't give a crap about. Control. I have always been a control freak and lately between the death of my son and the subsequent weight gain I feel very out of control. I don't like it. It also makes me feel scared and lost. I want to feel like I have some say in my life again. I want to feel like my opinion matters to the universe. I don't want to feel so small and insignificant any more.

It's August. Summer is winding down and I am fearful of the coming winter. Logan died in the winter. He died on a very sunny and frigid day. The sun was impossibly bright that day, and the air made your lungs tighten up and your throat want to choke. Or maybe it was the grief and tears. But I am afraid of the blah days of winter that seem to be approaching at lightening speed, though I sweat as I stand her typing this. If I am this sad now, how much worse will I be in the dreary days of winter, with out sunshine and warmth, and with the anniversary of his stillbirth looming? It's still about six months away. Seems like a long time, but I know how quickly these past 6 months flew bye. It also means that my daughter will be two, and she is growing up so fast, and I'm not ready for that. I want her to be my baby just a little longer. I'm not ready for her to be a kid. I'm not ready to move on. I'm not ready for the next major milestone that I fear might put me in the grave, or at least into a deeper pit. I'm not ready to be further away from the memory of my sons little tiny life.