I've been missing Peyton a lot lately.
Missing her whenever there is the calm and the stillness to go there.
After the middle of the night feeding, when the babies are back in their cribs and hubs rolls over to sleep, I think of her. I wonder if she is happy for us. Or feeling neglected.
I think about how I want to get rid of the bag of her clothes one moment, and to clutch them to me the next. I still - 3 plus years later - am stuck on those clothes. I don't know how much of it is a realistic fear of the chemo on them, and how much is just a PTSD avoidance thing. Whatever the root of it, they sit in the same plastic bag they came home in. Untouched in the corner of what was her room. They are the gatekeeper to my converting it to a writing space.
I think of her when I glance at her picture in our living room. She stares at me with big blue eyes. My Snowflakes have never even once had the look in their eyes that she was born with. That wisdom. It is a blessing that they haven't. I am sure she knew.
I feel her in every aspect of my parenting. I love more fully because of her. I am afraid of EVERYTHING because of her. I worry about what taking my children here or there might expose them to. Who might be there that could get them sick. Or if another child might have a bottle of milk with them, or some milk something on their hands, and cause Bubba to have an allergic reaction.
Am I the only one who feels this way?
I used to fantasize about how nice it would be to have a living child to take to the library for story hour, and here I have two, and can't seem to bring myself to go. I am not sure how, but I really hope to let some of that fear go before they are old enough to feel restricted by it. I don't want to be the helicopter parent that circumstances and loss have led me to be. Or at the very least, I don't want them to feel hovered over.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
The courage to change the things I can.
And the wisdom to know the difference.