.timelines.

Yesterday was six months since George died.  It won't be long before he has been dead longer than he was alive.  Once we pass the 29th week from his birth/death date I will be living in the grief about his death for longer than I was ever living in the joy about his life.

How unforgiving time is.  No matter how much I want to dig in my heals and refuse to be dragged along with it, I can't.  No amount of tears or pleading slows down the constant march forward and so I am left craning my neck backward in the hopes of catching a glimpse of what I once had.

The farther away into the present time drags me the more obscure my past becomes and the more events begin to coalesce.

This...

That time I got pregnant and when we found out he was a boy and when we decided on the name George Ellsworth after our fathers and the first time I felt him move and when we found out he was sick and when we were in the hospital and when I took all that medication and the moment we really realized that we were beyond saving him and when I got really sick and when we had to make the choice to not send him to the nicu and when we held him and he was live and when he died and when we realized he was never coming back.

Inevitably will become something more like this...

That time in my life I had a son named George and he died.

I want his life to occupy more of my timeline.  Instead as time stretches out to the right, the space his life occupies on that line shrinks and the space his death occupies expands.  

It is all wrong.

His death should have never occupied any space on my timeline at all.