Stress. Tears. Chocolate.

Oh, how I want to be able to be a light-hearted blogger today. I want to be one of those people who can somehow let all of life's worries just roll off their back. In fact, I got an email from a fellow blogger who is selling list of ideas to blog about! I was tempted...

But this is my blog. My little on-line journal. What would it become if I was working from someone else's arbitrary "to blog about" list? I just can't do it. So I'm just going to be boring old weepy me today. The me who has been stressed out, crying, and eating so much chocolate that I'm fairly certain that I should be changing my surname to Ghirardelli!

I'll just come right out and say it: It's been a helluva month.

-My Grandma died.

-My nephew spent several days in the hospital.

-We were planning on a quiet Christmas at home, but instead packed 10 giant suitcases full of gifts and piled onto an airplane (all 6 of us) and flew to Wisconsin on Christmas Eve.

-The same day that we traveled to Wisconsin, my friend's baby girl didn't wake from her nap.

-Grandma's funeral.

-Piles and piles of chocolate and coffee, which I could not... Could. NOT. keep from shoving in my mouth by the hand (and cup)- full.

-Photo orders that I failed to fill before heading out of town.

- Flying home from Wisconsin...barfing girl....home in the middle of the night.

- A gigantic vet and kennel bill waiting for us when we got home - lots of money we didn't have to spend.

- Home at midnight, and up the next morning to be the photographer for my friends' baby's funeral. She wanted special photos of her baby girl and the celebration of her life.

- Braced myself, and stepped on the scale after coming home from my folks' house. Why? Why do I do that to myself? There's something in me that truly believes my mom's cooking to be magical...amazingly delicious AND void of calories. I'm delusional, I know. The number on the scale that glared back at me (I swear the scale moaned in pain...or maybe that was me)...that number was a number I'd only seen in my 38th week of pregnancy. For those of you who don't know pregnancy weeks...that's GIGANTICALLY with baby...about 2 weeks before delivery, in fact.

It wasn't all bad. Not at all! I really enjoyed being in Wisconsin for Christmas - mom and dad always spoil us rotten, and we had wonderful family time. There's just nothing like being "home" for the holidays.

My nephew is now fine, thank God.

Grandma's funeral was beautiful. It was a beautiful tribute to the amazing woman she is, and ALL of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were there.

Although it was the most painful and difficult shoot of my life, I was so thankful to be able to DO something for my friends who were grieving their little girl.

In the midst of all this, do you know what I did very little of? Cry. I hardly shed a tear. Every time I felt tears threatening to make an appearance, I shoved them away. I didn't have time. I spoke at Grandma's funeral....couldn't let the tears get away from me, or I couldn't speak. I had to be professional at the funeral for sweet little Ruthie, or I couldn't have taken pictures for them.

No. Tears. I. Will. Not. Cry.

Later. I'll cry later. Always later.

And then, the evening of the baby's funeral, Luke took one look at me and gathered me up into his arms. I was fighting hard. Will. Not. Cry. All he said was "It's okay"...and I cried. Buckets and buckets. He might not have said "it's okay" if he'd have known what I had pent up! :-)

I thought it was all out.

And then, last Wednesday I woke up in excruciating pain. I couldn't move my head or right arm without a sharp pain ripping through my neck and shoulder. The doc ruled out any infection or bone problem with a series of blood tests and x-rays. Just a muscle problem. So I've been doped up on muscle relaxants and heavy duty pain relievers since Wednesday. It was a welcome relief...from the pain...from the thoughts that swirled in my mind. My brain was blissfully...empty.

It got better day by day. Yesterday, I even went without the prescription drugs and stuck to good old ibuprofen. And then today, I woke up in pain again. Kids off to school, hubby off to work, me and two little ones at home with the mess and laundry and bickering.

I spent the morning hunched over in pain, gasping for breath and crying out with each spasm of that muscle. What gives? I was almost all better!

And then, it all came crashing down...

the anxiety

the fear

the dread

the horror

the cold feel of my Grandma's once strong and warm hands

the golden locket around her neck that held a picture of her with Grandpa

the picture of the smiling little baby girl

how can that be her?

how can that little girl be in a tiny box?

how can her soft cheek be so hard?

how can her parents worship God?

I turned the volume of the cartoons up, and went into my bedroom. Locked the door. Not far enough - into the bathroom, lock that door. Looked at myself in the mirror...the squishy, ugly, hunched over me...who is that old lady?

And I cried. I sobbed. I couldn't stop. I paused a few times because I heard a strange noise that I thought was coming from one of my kids....but then realized it was ME. I cried some more.

And then, when I couldn't cry anymore, I stood up straight for the first time in days.

Could it be that this physical pain I've been in has been an emotional pain all along?

I found this article about crying, that is SO interesting. Read it if you need a good excuse for a good cry :-)

So there it is...the real me. The me that tries to be strong, but ends up being sick for the effort.

Now that I've written about it, maybe I can move on to more light-hearted stuff like Christmas pictures and yummy recipes....