Getting Over It

A little over a week ago, I had a moment.

It was a moment I was warned about and honestly one I’d irrationally feared, because I wasn’t sure how I would handle it. You see, I generally approach feelings the same way Hank Hill does, and that is to not approach them at all.

But not last week.

Lincoln is now about to the age where things spiral out of control for a year or twenty, so that’s been fun. This particular day was about the third in a row of him being a nightmare child that would make the children of the corn blush. Fitting for October, I guess.

Anyway, whilst screaming his adorable little head off, it was easy to see why: his gums were absolutely raw. The poor kid is cutting like 10 teeth at once and was acting every bit as miserable as it sounds. If I’m being honest, it’s everything I can do to not scream my head off when something as small as a popcorn kernel gets stuck in a molar, much less a fistful of molars prying their way through the gums all at once.

So, I felt bad for the kid. Hailee and I kicked around all the ideas for what to do about it, including all those home remedies you’re not supposed to talk about (put down the phone, we didn’t actually do any of them).

Then I had the moment. I did what many parents do when they encounter a seemingly insurmountable parenting problem: I pulled out my phone to text my mom.

I unlocked my phone, and then it hit me. Hit actually sounds like a gentler verb than what I experienced. Pummeled? Assaulted? Whatever the case, everything seemed to simultaneously go slow motion and act like a time-lapse around me all at once, as non-sensical as that sounds.

I tried to be strong. I took a deep breath and put my phone back into my pocket. I helped with the kids. I busied myself by cleaning up a little bit. I tried to not think about it. I even packed my materials for work and made it into my car, but then the floodgates burst. Everything I’d tried to avoid thinking about for the last three months just pelted me like a hailstorm.

I had forgotten. For the first time in three months, I’d forgotten that there would be no one on the other end of that text. I’d forgotten that my mom wasn’t just a phone call away. All the milestones I wouldn’t be able to share raced through my mind. All the advice I never got to ask swam and I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned the car off and went back inside and cried. Really good and cried for the first time in a long time.

Friends and loved ones had always warned me that the worst part is once you’ve settled back into your daily life and your daily routine. It seems that nearly every has a similar story of just going through the motions and hitting that brick wall.

But here’s the honest truth: it hurt. It was unpleasant, but it was healing in many ways. It was healing to actually think about the things I tried so hard to avoid.

I wish I had a catchy, tweetable tip for how to deal with this kind of experience. I wish I had answer, I do. But honestly, all I know is that sometimes you just have to get over it. Now, I don’t mean the rude, condescending way that you often hear that phrase. I mean that sometimes the programs work. Sometimes all the grief seminars and books and blogs have life-changing tips for how to handle grief. And sometimes, honest to goodness, you just have to take your time and get over it.

It needs to be okay to say, “I’m still getting over it,” when that’s right where you are. There is no shame in that. I’m getting over it. I’ll likely never completely get over it. There will absolutely be times that are way more challenging than others. But that’s okay. You know why?

Because I’m still getting over it.