A different kind of happy

Dear Stevie,
A friend of mine sent me a really nice message last night. One thing she said that really stuck out to me is, "I know this will take a long time to heal, and you shouldn't feel bad for grieving your loss. I think more importantly don't be afraid to feel joy. Don't deny yourself happy moments, when they come, embrace them."

I realize my last post was pretty depressing. I want you to know that I have been able to smile, even laugh a few times since you died. It doesn't happen often, but during the last week especially, I have had moments of what I guess you could call happiness. Watching super cheesy Steven Segal and Sylvester Stalone movies with Dad, long walks with the dogs, eating movie theater popcorn and watching "Iron Man 2," the hillarious care package from my friend Lisa--these things have all brought a smile to face and even allowed me to forget about how sad I am, if only for a moment.

The thing is, even when I feel happy, it's a different kind of happy. Sure, I'm happy relative to how unhappy I've been lately. It's like being really hungry and realizing all you have in the house to eat is a slightly freezer-burned macaroni and cheese frozen dinner. You eat it, and the hunger pangs go away, but you're not as satisfied as you'd have been if you went and got something you really enjoy, say Chipotle, if that makes any sense.

I can find things that make the overwhelming feeling of sadness go away for a while, but I've yet to feel the kind of pure happiness I had in my life before you died. It's a tainted happy. I can be happy, but I know I'd be happier if you were either still inside my belly or in my arms. You're always in the back of my mind. I'll find myself enjoying something and then it hits me like a ton of bricks how much more enjoyable it would be if you were there to enjoy it with me.

Stevie, I hope wherever you are, you're little spirit is experiencing the kind of pure happiness I hope to feel again myself someday too.

Love you forever,
Mom