Saturday after

The next morning, after Ryan's funeral, one of my Texas friends was flying out of the airport on the exact same flight Ryan took when he left California, the last time I saw him. I just kept picturing how I dropped Ryan off at that airport, early before the sun was fully up, the last time I saw him. And it hit me so hard. I started wishing I had never taken him to the airport, wanting to go back and cling to him instead. I just wept and wept. I think the funeral made me accept and realize he is not coming back. I kept this tiny little sliver of hope that maybe it was a mistake this whole time, that he was alive and everything would be okay. The funeral made me finally accept he was gone and that sliver of hope was gone. I was in a dark place yesterday morning. I guess I moved from sadness and anger to the depression part of grief. It hurt so bad I just wanted the pain to stop. I really felt like if I didn't have the children, I wouldn't want to keep going. I never felt like I would try to hurt myself or anything like that, but just that if I died, I would be okay with that. It was a scary and uncontrollable place to be. I guess a glimpse of the hurt Ryan had felt maybe too, a pain so deep you just want to give up. Then in the middle of my dark pain, Charlie fell and broke his thumb. It's strange, he was running up the slide, like he always does, but he fell and landed on his hand. I had to snap out of my funk to hold him. He usually bounces back to bumps and scratches really quickly, so when I was still holding him an hour later, I knew something was wrong. His thumb looked fine, but the fact that he wasn't bouncing back up to play, I knew. So I took him to urgent care and they said it was probably a sprain but x-rayed and sent us home with a splint. Then they called and said he actually had fractured it. So we will follow up with his pediatrician on Monday. I almost wonder if God used that injury to redirect my focus. I had to respond and care for Charlie, and then I was okay the rest of the day. Last night I slept a little better. Charlie is a tough kid. We painted his splint with gold paint and glow in the dark paint and are coming up with cool nicknames, like Metal Thumb or Iron Thumb... This morning is easier than yesterday morning, I realize I'm going to have good days and bad days. I just hope the dark days are few and short-lived though, as I do not want to linger in that place. I go see the grief counselor tomorrow and am thankful for that. One step at a time, we are getting closer to healing.