Joshua would have been 5 months old on Saturday. And I missed it. I wrote the date down on Friday, I remember doing it. It didn't register then, what tomorrow was. Today I wrote down the date and realized I had missed it.
I think it's the grace of God that I didn't know it on the day. I think it's easier for me to miss it, than spend 24 hours mulling over it. Granted, I spent a lot of my Sunday thinking about Joshua. I fell apart last night and cried. My poor husband sat and watched me bawl my eyes out and get angry. I think sometimes it's not the 'special dates' that I miss him most, it's when something else goes wrong.
Matt and I have been married nearly 3 years now, and we've been through the proverbial wringer. It hasn't been easy, from the get-go. And that sucks for us. Last night I had a dawn-breaks-over-marble-head incident. I know that men don't need to 'talk it out' like women do. I know they get yacked at a lot, but don't say much. And somehow I had stopped talking because Matt wasn't talking.
Last night he said, "I talk when I need to. You can just talk, I'll listen." (or something like that).
Somehow this was something I never allowed myself to do. I thought that I was bugging him (I probably am), or that he doesn't want to listen to me blather on (he probably doesn't) or that he'll get annoyed at my endless tears (he probably does). But he's willing to let me talk. Open the floodgates.
I talked. And I cried. And I actually ran out of words. Imagine that. I never run out of words.
I realized something about myself too. I don't talk or open up until there's more than one thing wrong. In fact, often (like last night) until there's more than a dozen things wrong. So my poor husband probably thinks I'm crazy, since I prattled on from A to B to C to Z without stopping for breath (I did stop for tissues though).
I slept so good last night.
I had weeks and weeks worth of frustration, anger, sadness, and agony pent up inside me.
I forgot to talk.