Just when I think I have things figured out, I find I'm standing on my head.
It's like it is happening all over again. The pain is so real. The memories so intensely heartbreaking. I'm upset today. Mad, even. Mad that the "rest of the world" gets to go on turning. Go on playing with their children. Go on caring about clothes and TV and material things that aren't important. It makes me want to scream. Go on living their normal day to day lives while I silently suffer. It's not fair!!
Last week the spirit spoke so loudly and clearly to me, "You can do this. You are strong. You will make it through. There is so much beauty in your life yet to live, yet to discover." This week it is muted and muffled and my ears are full of wax. I can't hear it.
I've been watching a beetle bug in my bathtub the past few days. Without fail, without ceasing, it tries endlessly to make it's way out of the tub. The walls are slick and steep and there is no way it will make it out. Doesn't it know that it's just too hard? Why does he keep trying? In a moment of anger I splashed water on it. "Just give up and go down the drain!" I didn't throw enough water to make it sink, but enough to shake the poor guy up a bit. I woke up this morning to discover him dead in the center of the tub. I should have helped him out, helped him up, like so many of you are trying to do for me. But I didn't. I wanted to see him fail, wishing I could do the same. But I can't give up. That's not an option for me. I have to keep living and I have to keep going and I hate it. It's too much to ask. It's too much to bear. Are the walls too steep? Is my footing not sure on slick ground? Where has my Lucy gone? Who splashed this unsuspecting water on me? I have no reason to get up in the morning. No Lucy to take care of. No job to attend to. But I get up anyway and try to make sense of my life.
Her passing, the accident, it was so unexpected. So quick and painful and jolting to my entire universe. My heart doesn't understand. There was no time to prepare. In one small moment she was gone. I long for her laugh, to hold her little body, to give her goodnight kisses between the slats of the crib, to hear her ask for "Pink...no lellow spoon. No...Pink".
In some strange way, I feel Lucy closer now than ever. Yet I miss her more than ever. It has been four months. Some on the outside may think, "I should be better now. I should be healed." I'm not. I'm nowhere close. I suppose I have made progress. I know I have learned. But oh, how I am broken! Do I really have to live the next 50 years without my Lucy? Is that even possible?
Perhaps this is too negative and revealing to be venting these things. I hope those of you who have not suffered a loss and been through something this traumatic know how blessed you are. I hope I know how blessed I am too, amidst this refiner's fire. I guess we all struggle to see our blessings at times.
My sister says to live one breath at a time and cling to Vic and I will make it. Not one day, or one week, or even one moment, but one breath at a time. I wish it weren't so, but it is. Someone has placed a 50 pound brick on my chest and I am asked to keep breathing. It is so heavy. Clinging to Vic, well, that part is easy.
Her beauty is beyond words. The way she changed my life is beyond description.
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