the gray

I just got out of bed… it’s 5pm. I just laid there and stared, at nothing, at everything… and thought and thought and thought. The thinking is dangerous but sometimes I’m just too tired not to. I’m sad. I’m so so so sad.

And here I am, sitting in this chair staring at the blinking cursor on this screen. I’m drawn here like an addict, like I’m going to find something here I didn’t find the last 200 times I dumped out the black tar from my heart and sifted through it.

Maybe I do. Maybe when I write I sort through things on some level maybe that’s why I’m here, again.

I’m so ripped apart, so torn, so whipped by the ravages of grief. The trying to live while dying is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Maybe it’s more like living while dead. I died. I died a year ago Wednesday. I lay down in that grave with my son and I never came out. Yet some ghost of that person sits here today. That person is torn between the devastation, ache, missing and loss that is her life and the new life kicking at her ribs with every ounce of strength his little feet can muster. I’m torn between the relieved smiles when he moves and the memories of when Damon didn’t.

I exist in the world between. The space between life and death. Days like today when my soul leans, longs, aches for death’s side produce angst and guilt because of the lives loving me from the other side. Because I know what that feels like, to be left behind. And still my heart aches to be with my son. My arms ache for him. My soul cries for him and for the thousandth time I cry out ‘why?!’

From the gray…