When Floating Persists . . .

I still often feel as though I'm floating.  I'm not really sure how else to explain it, but it's that feeling you get when you're living something but it doesn't quite feel real.  It's like you're there physically but mentally you're someplace else.  That floating feeling can come when something good happens.  I experienced it on my wedding day and on each day my kids were born.  Sometimes it's referred to as "being on cloud 9."  I'm not sure why it feels that way.  Maybe it's because you look forward to something for so long that once you actually experience it it just doesn't seem real . . . it can't really be happening!

Sometimes you float the opposite reason.  Sometimes you get that floating feeling when life's biggest trials and unexpected  disappointments come your way.  You experience something that completely knocks you off your feet and leaves you wondering if "this is really happening."  It just doesn't seem real.  It feels like a dream you're in and at some point very soon you're going to wake up and things will be the way they were before.

Maybe you feel it because you wish you weren't really there.  You're present physically, but mentally you're wishing things could be different . . . or the same as they were.

Either way, that floating feeling is real.  I wonder if that's why people people tell you to sit down before they share really good or really bad news with you.

Tomorrow marks one year since I began floating.  I'm not sure I've landed yet, and I'm beginning to think that even if I do land I'll never quite have the solid footing I had before.  I remember vividly the last day I felt like myself.  I can remember nearly every moment of December 11th.  Not because of what happened that day, but because it became significant due to what happened the next day.   December 11th, 2012 was the last day where everything was the way it was supposed to be.  It was one year ago today.

What if you could know just how significant certain moments are while they're happening?

What if I knew putting that ginger bread house together last December 11th would be the last thing we would do together as a family of six?  What if we knew that picture Thomas colored on the floor earlier in the day with his big brother, Samuel, would be the last picture he would color?  What if we knew that trip to the grocery store that morning would be the last for he and his mommy?  So many things we can look back on.  They are so significant now.

It was one year ago I was sitting in this same chair at this exact time with him.  Thomas had awaken after sleeping for a couple of hours and was having a hard time getting back to sleep.  I went and got him out of his crib and we snuggled in this very chair.  I had no idea it would be the last time we would snuggle.

I can still feel the weight of his body on my lap and his arms and legs wrapped around me.  I can smell his hair and feel it tickle my chin as he lays his head on my chest.  I can hear his breathing and see him look up at me periodically as he dozes in and out--making sure it's still me he's laying on and not his mattress--before nestling his had back under my chin.  I can't begin imagine what I'd give to experience that one more time . . . just once.  Sometimes it's just too much to even think about.

I still hear him say, "Da Da" now and then.  I know it's not really him, but it sounds so real.  I still walk out to the kitchen in the mornings and am surprised when he's not at the table eating breakfast.  Everything is still so vivid.  Even a full year later it's like he's right here.  It's all within memory's reach, but memories are all we have, and memories just can't compete with the real thing.

So I'll just keep floating . . . and wondering . . .  because sometimes I'm not sure what else to do.