First, Brush Your Teeth
Mornings are hard. Before December 15, each weekday my alarm would go off and my feet would hit the floor. I would brush my teeth, shower, and get ready for work. It was automatic. I didn't have to think about it. After the accident, for two and a half weeks, I swung my feet off the bed each morning and got myself to the hospital to see my sweet baby boy.
On January 1, everything changed.
Each morning, I have to will myself to put one foot on the floor, then the next. I know if I can just brush my teeth, there is a good chance I will get dressed and do something...even if it's just to go downstairs and sit down on the couch.
My chest carries an invisible weight. My feet trudge slowly through concrete I cannot see. This is grief.
I know God is with me. I couldn't get through this without that assurance. But there are moments throughout the day when the only thing I want is a hug from Chandler.
So night comes and I crawl into bed. I try my best to block flashbacks of painful images from the past month and pray for peaceful sleep. The next morning, I will myself to just get up...and brush my teeth.