Wow, this
screen is bright… A big blank page. I’ve never noticed that before, how ominous
an empty page can seem.
Where am I?
How am I? I don’t know. I know that freaking Christmas sucks. Two months of
pure torture, smiling happy faces, songs about family being together and the
echo of what life used to be. I’ve long been an overly obnoxious Christmas lover. I loved the lights and the songs and the
coco and most of all I loved that it meant time. Time with those that are mine.
It doesn’t mean that anymore. Christmas sucks. Even more than life sucks on
average, which is a lot.
Will and I
ran away, literally. We spent a week split between road tripping and snuggling
in a little cottage overlooking tide coming in and out. I slept, a lot, like a
whole lot. Will enjoyed not having to be anywhere and played a lot of video games
(his little escape). We spent hours in silence, comfortable silence. One of the
things I love about us is that we’re pretty good about just letting things be
what they are. If we don’t feel like talking we just don’t and we didn’t, a
lot. We also spent some time laughing until we cried and then I just plain
cried, hard.
I missed
Damon. I ALWAYS miss Damon. I also missed Isaiah so much it hurt. I hated being
away from him. I ached for him and it felt good. That’s not really something I
can explain, that it felt good to ache for my living child but it did. It felt
good to ache for someone I would get to run to and hold again. Someone I love
with every stinkin’ ounce of everything I am. It felt good to scoop his full
66lbs into my arms and feel like a piece of me got put back together. It felt
good. It feels good to feel love, even though it hurts.
I missed
here which was without a doubt the most unexpected occurrence in my life since
the hell of March. I missed Oklahoma’s open plains and cold winter weather. I
missed this stupid town that I so often HATE. I’m glad we left, so so glad, but
I also missed the traditions. I don’t think I could have handled them this year
but I missed all the little things my family does that they don’t even realize
they do and the tether from my heart to the southwest was strung so tight it
stung. It felt like Damon was here and I wasn’t. I know this is one of the
millions of instincts left, part of my hearts absolute refusal to believe that
he’s gone but it was a feeling I couldn’t shake. Maybe it’s because almost all
of the people who love him were here.
I guess the
long and short is we survived. I’ve thought so much about all of the parents
who have lost children, some the nation is aware of, most only a small section
of the world is rocked and an even smaller portion destroyed all together. I
thought a lot about what I would give to be back in the ‘happy bubble,’ to be
plugged back into the matrix. I often loathe the happy oblivious people but the
truth is it’s jealously. I can never again have what they have, never ever.
I have no
profound thoughts; this is just where I am. This is just what I think. I’m
slowly opening, slowly regaining function in some of my paralyzed limbs. It
burns, aches, hurts in ways I can’t explain.
I took
Isaiah with me to the grocery store this morning. He wanted waffles. I’m his
mommy and I made him waffles. I made him waffles and I made my husband coffee
and eggs. Doesn’t sound like much but in my world it was like a former quadriplegic
walking. Isaiah said “Mommy, I wish we could always be together, like all the
time, never apart.” Holy geez I love that kid. I have to remember that the burn is worth it.
I’m trying;
we’re all trying, right? Tell you what I won’t judge you and you don’t judge me
and maybe walking across the room will happen more often for all of us.
Until next
time.
