Goodnight My Angel

Elodie in her own surrender to sleep (amen, thank you God)

I am learning that giving up is part of this whole process.  Or letting go of control.  Whichever way you want to phrase it.  Todd stopped by tonight to drop off some clothes.  Ellie and I were napping on the couch.  I am pretty sure I had not a clue who he was for at least the first few minutes.  Then I asked him what day it was and what time it was.  I really did not know.  But it does not matter, I tell myself, cause Ellie and I were cuddling.  That is what matters.   Oh, and Todd informed me that the president is visiting the MQT next week.  That does not matter either.  Cause Ellie and I were cuddling and likely will be again whenever he strolls into town.  We are living a full life rather than busy one.  Sorry Mr. President.

As I am coming out of the "crazy first few weeks with a newborn" fog, I find myself reprioritizing and trying to retrain my brain to be present in the moment.  To hold Ellie's little hand tightly as she sleeps rather than wish I could set her down so I could do her laundry and finally empty my bladder.  As Ellie is feeling better I am finding myself relaxing enough to feel the good in all that is in the here and now. 

Ellie has changed me in other ways as well.  She causes me to think of Shannon multiple times per day, which leaves me immersed with longing over wishing Shannon was with me.  I think about her in the most predictable of times and the most unpredictable of times.  When Ellie is screaming her pretty face off at 3 a.m. every morning and I pace the floor frustrated and exhausted I think of her.  When I am standing in front of the mirror washing my hands and looking at my tired eyes, I remember how she was supposed to take time off of work to come help me with Ellie. I think about how my brother has not met Ellie yet and how pissed off Shannon would be with him for it. Grief is as unpredictable as life and I find that losing Shannon and gaining Ellie have both caused me to love a whole lot deeper than I ever felt was possible.  I allow myself to think of her. Even though it hurts. So I hold Ellie a little tighter than I may have otherwise.  I imagine Shannon with me at night when I feel like the only person on earth with a relentlessly miserable baby.   When I repeatedly sing Ellie her lullabye every few hours (Billy Joel's Goodnight My Angel), and she melts in my arms, I stare at her peaceful face and think of Shannon.  I often feel I am singing it to the both of them and it warms my heart. In the lullabye moments, I gladly give up and surrender. And I know, regardless of everything else, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.