I feel like I have to write. Countless people, made perfectly to love me in these dark days have come along to help me cover the most mundane in life, in an effort to create space to grieve and have enough energy to connect with my kids in a loving way. Therefore, most of the day, I am thinking 86 million thoughts. So, in the mornings, I just kind of need a jumping off point. Where am I? So, to figure it out, I have to write. Climb up on the shaky diving board, walk to the wobbly edge, describe where I am and jump into the waves of grace for another day of floating.
So, in a couple short words, where I feel like I am, is DAY 3. I keep saying, "Today was like day 3." I can't quite get past it. The hurt continues to remain day 3 fresh. I'm not weeping and hysterical like days 1 and 2, but each day brings new sorts of hurt. Each day, as my body and mind can handle it, I peel away one new layer of REALITY as I am still trying to grasp what just happened here and all of the fallout.
One thing I hear a lot is, "There are no words." How true that is. There probably are words somewhere if we combine all the worlds languages, but there are just no words and even when I try to use them, they seem deftly inadequate. I cry and say, "I just miss him," But those words feel like they should be used while someone is away on a business trip. So, just know that when I say, “I miss him, I’m really saying, “my heart is bleeding, my soul is begging and my body is broken.” I don’t just “miss him.”
Yesterday reality that I peeled away was a delicate layer. Other peoples lives continue, they announce “Happy New Year,” they post on facebook how many of their fleet is out with the flu, they post a picture of their darling, homemade elephant cupcakes, etc. . . . And, naturally, I want others lives to go on. I feel like everybody else’s life slowed down with mine for a little while. We all hit a traffic jam, we all slowed down, but traffic is clearing, people are moving forward at different speeds and my old 79 Volkswagon rabbit is hobbling off to the side. Plenty of people have tried to rev the old Rabbi (that was the nickname of my old VW Rabbit) and a few have even towed it, a lot of people yelled encouraging words, which has kept me on the road at all, but I am far from keeping pace with the pack. And who would expect me to?
What keeps me pressing the gas pedal of this old junker is that people keep rotating in and out of the car. Enough people are stopping long enough to hop in, nestle into my uncomfortable seats and lop along with me. And those who can’t be passengers are helping to drip gas into this guzzler with each prayer. Prayers have been my fuel. Sometimes I feel it and sometimes I don’t, but without a doubt my lop would be a stall without them. Surely, I'll make it to day four sometime soon.