I get it, I do.
Your grief is loud, physical, a call to action. That ghost of a bathroom we’ve been waiting almost 7 years to see appear, is now securely on it’s way to fruition. While I appreciate your hard work, I could do without the hammering right now.
Because while your grief is loud, my grief is quiet, contemplative and sluggish. If I don’t accomplish anything more than a shower today, I’m okay with that. I don’t have any commitments to keep. I manged to feed and clothe the minions and myself, which in my book, is quite the accomplishment.
I had to leave this afternoon, I’m sorry. I couldn’t take the hammering and the boys running up and down the stairs and the stereo blaring and I just needed a few minutes to myself, a few quiet minutes.
While Wal-mart is not my favorite place, we needed something for supper and I thought maybe I could handle that small task.
I stopped at the cemetery on the way. Such an ugly place in the middle of winter. Muddy and barren. I must have been quite the figure, dressed all in black, hair whipping around my face, sobbing at that mound of earth that now holds our son.
I left as quickly as I decided to stop.
Wal-mart was so crowded, I’d forgotten it was Saturday. On the best of days, the store overwhelms me. I must go in, get what I need and get out, otherwise I become disoriented and a headache quickly rules my head. I looked at all the people streaming in and out. My gut felt like I’d been punched, I could already feel the headache creeping up my neck, but I got out of the car and went in anyway. I’m a glutton for punishment like that.
Today I wandered a bit. I looked at clothes and shoes and was proud of myself for acting the part of the average shopper. That is until I saw the little red-headed boy in the shopping cart. He looked about 10 months old and it was all I could do to push my cart forward without collapsing in a puddle on the floor.
Maybe it’s too soon for Wal-mart.
I gathered our supper and checked out. Arriving back home without incident, to a mailbox full of mail. A box full of cards and letters, all sharing our grief.
Maybe it’s too soon to read the mail.
I don’t really mean that. I appreciate every card and letter sent to us. I am awe-struck that so many people feel compelled to share their love and support with us. Thank you just doesn’t seem adequate.
While I soldier on during the day, it’s the night that truly cripples me. While my sleepless nights didn’t go undetected during the past 5 months, at least I could occupy myself with the comings and goings of the Chaperones. I could help tend to David until my eyes got the better of me and I knew with certainty that if I tried to sleep, it would come quickly.
Here, there is no guarantee of sleep. I know it drives you crazy that I prefer the recliner to the our bed, but the pursuit of sleep is a solitary endeavor and by the time I’ve actually conquered it – you’re stirring to face the day.
If nothing else – I haven’t lost my sense of humor. I said the minions were dressed, I didn’t say they were coordinated.