The high price of Grief

Last night, Hayden and I had a great time cruising our new town together. He talked of a memory during a tornado warning when we all had to be in the basement. Someone was holding him and it was kinda cold. He thinks dad was there. I remember a tornado threat, Mitch's first birthday post-mortem, when Gramma Mimi was visiting. Could be he combined memories, could be I just don't remember that one time with Mitch. He talked of what he remembers about Gramma Mimi. He talked of the richness of his memories, how glad he is to have them. I mentioned that time I left him with her and he screamed the whole time. Then she took him to Monsters, Inc. and he took a break until the movie was over. I apologized. He was only three. I desperately needed a break. What I couldn't see, what I just didn't have room for, was a baby who desperately needed a mama. I had a flash of a memory while Hayden took a bath, a tiny view of Hannah's face as I pulled away and all she wanted was for me to be there and I gave her the just a minute or the you're fine, I'm right here. Why couldn't I be there? What lesson is there? The thought of that memory from the other side, of mama needing to be somewhere else instead of right here.
What I miss the most? I thought of this... I did miss Mitch, mostly though, I missed Mitch's love. Knowing it was there and full and mine. Hannah's love; even when I gave her reasons to make that other face, the all of her faces were filled with love for me, forgiveness, acceptance. Hayden's tougher. He had lots of opportunities for the don't leave me face, it's true. What does he make them mean? What do I make them mean? These moments of clarity, when I can both acknowledge past sources of pain and create a new, safe, joyful memory, are how I know the job is not an unsurmountable challenge. Last night was a treat. I was in the real now and what I did/said mattered. I listened, I was present, I shared.
I've cocooned into myself these last many weeks. With blowing winds. I'm not sure if they are my fears or if they're my own defense against facing my fears. I've braved the outside world to great reward: my friends' visits, working at Sunnyside Up; yet, I'm happy to just curl up into myself whenever I have a chance. I've used some of that time for enjoyment: I've got three or four knitting projects going on right now, I've read more Anne Lamott and for shits and giggles, I picked up some Stephanie Plum (at least no one's shooting at me). I see myself building that wall, putting up my defenses, shutting others out. Hayden can come in, I can scrape up what I need to begin engaging with him and I'm usually inspired enough to continue to do so. Other folk require more than I've been willing to scrape together. It seems there's not much left. It's really sad. It's like I want to engage and just can't ~ put myself at risk? ~exhaust myself?
Where is my sense of abundant diana? That, indeed is the real question.
I'm gonna go knit and ponder.