It's been awhile

I'm laying next to my sleeping 14 month old boy.  Listening to his deep breaths, hoping he'll sleep for longer, just a little longer..

I'm wiping tears for his big brother, my first born, the baby I didnt bring home.  Jack.
I'm aching in all kinds of ways.  I have been so tired, so sleep deprived, so afraid of letting any big emotions out, that I think I've not let myself feel grief for awhile.

But today, today I'm screaming silently into the void.
That void where I have an almost 4 year old boy.  The missing, a long tunnel...I feel like if I could just stretch my arms far enough, run fast enough, scream loud enough, that I could reach him.  Clasp him to me with the fierceness of my longing.

It's been building for the last couple of weeks.  Perhaps it's the night weaning- I have more space to feel.  I spent a couple weeks sleeping in the spare bed, away from S, while his father took care of him at night.  On my last night alone, I woke to the sensation of  my pillow being pushed down, like another head had layed down next to mine.  I awoke startled, with the clear impression that someone was there.

I thought of my father.  My father died of cancer, earlier this year.  I wonder if I've grieved at all for that loss.
 The stress, the unrelenting nature of being bedside in his last weeks whilst also parenting my 9 month old: walking the hospital corridors wearing my child bouncing him to sleep and ducking out of the way of re-sus teams running the hallway; breastfeeding with no discretion in  hospital cafe, foyer, palliative care waiting room, bed-side while listening to teams of Dr's, holding my father up with one arm as he tried to leave his bed disorientated, and the dealing with all the family crazy that occurs in that time, the arranging his funeral, dealing with the estate, all the while holding holding.