The Red Light and Pitcher

Last week after my therapy appointment, I ran a red light and luckly was not hit by another car. The reason for my running of the red light was the fact that I was so in thought about something that my therapist had asked me to do. She asked me to look at a picture of my twin nieces, she said it was time. It was not something that needed to be done when I got home but it needed to be done soon. While, thinking about what she had asked of me, my phone rang and it was my dad. I don't know why he called at that particular moment because we don't talk on the phone often but I like to assume that he knew I needed someone to talk too. I needed someone to help me back to my reality of being in the car driving and just talk to me about nothing at all. I told him I ran the red light and he was glad I was okay. He asked how therapy went but didn't pry when I told him it just had me lost in thoughts but instead reassured me how glad he was that I had someone to talk to and that it was helping. Then he proceeded to ask me if it was normal to cook a pork roast at 170 degrees. I let out a little chuckle and informed him that the cookbook was referring to the internal temperature of the roast. It was nice because at that moment, I need someone and it happened to be the comfort of my dad.

Well, we finished up our conversation and I began thinking about what my therapist said again. I knew she was right and I felt like I had some how gotten the strength from the sound of my dad's voice to look at their pictures. I wasn't sure what to expect and I wasn't sure if I could really look at more than one but I knew it had to be done at that particular moment. So when I got home, I opened up my laptop and went online to see their pictures. Initially, the pictures on this particular site are very small. It was like baby steps I could kind of see what they looked like but it wasn't big and in my face. I gained more courage and I opened up a picture of the both of the girls being held by their grandpa and just stared at it. Then, the tears began because I thought how beautiful those little girls are and how lucky they are to be loved by their grandpa. Then came the sadness not towards the girls but for my boys. All I could think about was the fact that my dad or Kevin's dad never got to hold Declan and Lucas together like that and they never would. Then came the intense anger at the fact that I never got to hold my own children that way. To feel their breath on my neck or feel their skin on mine. The anger of the fact that my sons will never get to know any of their family nor will we get to know them.

I close the pictures and just continued to shake for a while until I had this overwhelming desire to break something...anything. I saw a pitcher on the table, I felt the weight of it in my hands, I examined it whole and then I just let go. I watched it hit the ground and break into what seemed like a thousand pieces. I just looked at all of those jagged pieces on the ground and thought this is my life. It is no longer whole but instead a thousand jagged pieces waiting to be put back together. I kept thinking their are so many broken pieces how am I ever going to be able to put them all back together. After the tears stopped, I started to clean up the mess I made and was slowly recovering from the bout of anger when I decided that I needed to keep all of the pieces. I had read that breaking something and putting it back together can be very theraputic. I know the breaking part felt great but I don't know about putting it back together? So, I got a bag and in to the bag all of the pieces went. The idea is that as I get stronger and when I feel ready, I can start to put the pieces back together.

A few days later, I decided I needed to really just look at the girls by themselves and I saw nothing more than a picture of two cute little girls. So, I started to put the pitcher back together. The pitcher is not by any means completed nor does that mean that I am still not angry. It just means that for that moment on that day I some how found the strength to start putting back the pieces, but I now there will be days when the pieces fall apart again. Hopefully, it just won't be so many. This pitcher will never look the same, it will forever have pieces missing and just like the pitcher my life will never be the same because Declan and Lucas will always be the missing.