I got another punch to the gut tonight. Another one of those triggers I didn’t know was a trigger that pops up out of nowhere and leaves tear marks on my glasses. Can’t grief give us some sort of warning when these things are about to happen?
Our two-going-on twelve year old has recently started growing out of his 3T clothes. Tonight I had a few free minutes before dinner so I decided to start clearing out some of his winter 3T clothes to make room for summer 4T. As I’m pulling things out of his closet, I’m realizing that a majority of these clothes are ones that Quinlan had worn. I am picturing him in so many of the shirts I’m now packing away because August has now outgrown them.
Then it hits me that 3T was the size Quinlan wore when he died. These were the last clothes he ever wore. These were the shirts he wore for his last Christmas (the green plaid button down), and coming home from his last hospital stay (the red long sleeve with the fire truck). The clothes we saw him in more than any others because he was home with us for most of the last year of his life. We could dress him like any other parents would do for their two year old. One of the “normal” tasks we could do with Quinlan. This realization means we are quickly running out of clothes for August to wear of his big brothers. Only a few more times to have side by side pictures of “who wore it best”, a limited number of times we can say “I remember when Quinlan wore this” as we dress August in the morning. Isn’t that supposed to be one of the perks of having two boys, the younger will always have a full wardrobe courtesy of the older. August’s hand me down wardrobe ends at 3T.
It sucks. It sucks and it’s stupid and it’s not supposed to be this way.
This sends me into a ugly cry that is so necessary in this world of grief, but is so hard when your two year old has the purest of hearts and is asking over and over “you ok, mama?”
“Yes, buddy, I’m okay. It’s okay to cry sometimes” is all I can manage to get out to ensure him that I am ok, if that’s what you can call my present state.
After telling Bear why I went upstairs fine and came downstairs a blubbery mess, him, August, and I had a much needed family hug and all I could think about was the obvious, Quinlan should be here to complete this four person family hug. Again I say, this sucks.
A specific date is creeping up that is really weighing heavy on my heart, and not making these moments any easier. In the beginning of May, August will be alive for 2 years, 5 months, and 2 days. He will be 886 days old. He will officially be older than his older brother.
I’m not ready to dive into the emotions I’m feeling about that day, as I’m still reeling from the 3T clothes situation, but I will say this is a day I have been dreading. As Bear reminded me, when it rains, it pours, but I can only handle one storm at a time.
If you see August wearing clothes that may be a bit too small on him in the near future, don’t judge. Just know it’s because his mama can’t handle the fact that the hand me downs from his big brother are coming to an end and I’m not ready for it.