It was a day similar to any other. Kids and errands and food and cleaning and craziness. Naps and sippy cups, diapers, building blocks, cartoons and kisses.
Our new minivan needed to have the tire pressure checked out and an oil change so I headed to the Big O in Fort Union--because that is where the Groupon we purchased requires us to go. (It was a steal of a deal and I'm so glad Vic purchased it way back when.)
The kids and I played in the waiting area while they worked on our car. We got there just as they were getting ready to close but they squeezed us in. I think we were their last customers. Vic was just leaving work once the car repairs were done so I suggested he meet us there and that we grab a bite to eat across the street at Lone Star Taqueria. (Pretty darn good food).
And so we did. It was a beautiful evening. The kids were being darling (and crazy). Zoë insists on standing up in her high chair, climbing on the table, and eating with a fork or spoon, thus, causing all sorts of chaos and messes.
After our meal (we ate outside on the patio...it was such a lovely night. Zoë loved pointing out the birds flying over head and flirting with the tables next to us), we headed back across the street where I had left the van parked in the Big O parking lot.
I was happy. Really happy. I was filled with great food on a beautiful Friday evening. The weekend was just beginning and my children had behaved rather well that day. As Vic was buckling Peter in his car seat on the opposite side of the van from Zoë and me, I began to throw my Zoë June into the air above my head. She squealed with absolute delight each time she took flight. The sun was setting behind her and she had the most adorable gigantic smile on her face.
About the third or fourth throw up in to the air, something hit me entirely out of the blue. Zoë came down in slow motion and I could barely gather myself enough to catch her. I lost my breath and started crying. Really crying. (At this point Vic had already walked back to his car). I cried the entire drive home. Like, shaking crying. I could not stop.
When I say "something hit me"--it was like a literal punch of emotion in the stomach. Lucy. She wasn't there. She wasn't at Big O with us playing in the lobby. She wasn't eating tacos with us. I don't know.... it just...HURT. Maybe I'd had a moment with Lucy exactly like the one I was having with Zoë. Maybe something about Zoë's expression ignited something in my subconscious. Lucy's face. Lucy's expressions. I don't know. But it was powerful. It kind of scared me.
As soon as I got in the car and continued my cry fest, my very next thought was that I would blog about that moment. That moment of bliss and searing pain. But I was so bugged that I would even think to blog about it. I wanted this moment to be pure and just for me! I actually said out loud, "No! I will not blog about this! This is just my moment to think about Lucy and miss her and try to figure out what just happened. What triggered that? Why? What is going on? Let me just feel this for ME!"
That's when I called Justin and told him everything I just wrote here. " I feel like my blog and Instagram and social media take away from my moments that could otherwise just be pure moments. I think about sharing them and taking photos and blogging about them and it obstructs them somehow... It bugs me!"
In his wisdom he told me some things. Just...some things. Things that resonated as truth to me. About me. I'm a sharer. (Obviously...since the first thing I did after having these thoughts was call a friend and tell him about it.) Why not have this intense moment and share it?
So I did.
I don't even know if this post makes sense.