My son is just a little boy and he gets his fair share of scrapes and bumps. Sometimes he hurts himself and goes on like it never happened and other times he cries like his arm has fallen off. When he gets worked up over nothing my husband and I tell him to "be tough" and that there is no reason to cry. Today, after a minor injury of unknown origin, I encouraged him to be tough and he said in response, "I don't want to be tough mom," as he fended off tears.
I know exactly how he felt. Every day I tell God that I don't want to be tough anymore. I just want to cry for a while. Daily life requires that I toughen up. It takes a certain level of composure to function and go about normal daily activities. And I hate it. It is exhausting to press down all my sadness so that I can run to the grocery store or sit through church without bursting into tears. Because inside I am still so broken. I am not tough at all. I can keep it together for a while, but it is only a matter of time until I find myself curled up in a ball on my bed crying out every last tear in my body.
I cry when I wake up, I cry in the shower, I cry in the car, I cry when I write, and I cry when I think about Aubrey and Ellie which is as often as I breathe. I can't do a single chore or run a single errand without tears streaming down my face. Yet some how I manage to wipe the tears away and put a smile on before I face the world. Sunglasses are a godsend. The people that see me have no idea what kind of heartache lives inside of me. They would never suspect that less than three months ago I lost both of my baby girls. And I resent it.
I want the world to know what happened to my girls and how much it has devastated me to lose them. I want everyone to be aware of my pain. But that is not how life works. The world does not stop for me, although at times I feel that it should. In the midst of my pain I have to find the strength to be tough, even if I don't want to be.