Spring in Park City is a real doozie. Sometimes I'm afraid to talk about it because it makes me so mad. And I DO NOT want to hear a peep from anyone in Arizona or California or anywhere warm and wonderful. (Oh, wait, that would be anywhere but here). Just keep it to yourselves. Come see me in mid-July and then we can talk. Let's just say I'm beginning to wonder if living here is really worth it. But I digress...
What happens when its mid-May and snowing, is that I become confused. I start thinking, "Goodbye Autumn, here comes winter". And then I have to remind myself that we're actually heading towards Summer and that I'm just experiencing a temporary Spring storm. A surge of hope runs through me and I realize long days of green and sunshine are around the corner-- At which point I start feeling much better.
So how do you handle things when it really is the end of the fall season? I hold my breath the entire winter long and pretend it isn't happening. Truly, I do. I just ignore it and hope it goes away.
And all this weather business got me thinking about the day the earth truly did stand still for me two years ago. And the subsequent weather patterns that have followed.
That day was May 18, 2008. There are no words to describe it. My vocabulary is pitifully small and limited, but even with the wits of Shakespeare or the brilliance of Louisa May Allcott, I could not pen an inkling of the immobilizing agony that was born that day. It has been by my side ever since and I can beckon it whenever I please. Never have I had a more faithful companion. And with the latest weather pattern of my grief, that agony is resurfacing as anger. I'm mad. Really mad. So mad that I am turning inward for the first time in my journey. I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of trying to figure it out. I'm tired of it all. I struggle with hearing about another birthday for another princess, another birth of a first-born baby girl. I want to say, "Oh, how wonderful! And in two years she will die and you'll bury her in the cold, hard ground. Have fun!" I'm angry. I'm finally angry. Perhaps I'm a late bloomer. But this 2 year mark is really doing me in. I bravely made it through the first year. I got to that point and thought, "I made it this far, I can do it."
But the second year. It just sucks.
Lucy would be four in a few weeks. FOUR. I would have a four year old! My flesh and blood. My blonde beauty. Her body is in the ground. Her brother does not get to play with her. My husband will be forty in a few years and his oldest living child will be three.
Winter has a full hold on my heart.
There are signs of Spring. There are signs of hope. But let me tell you, they are hard to hold on to.
Vic says he looks at it like we've run a marathon. Not everyone does that. But we have. My debilitating problem is that I want people at the finish line to cheer me on, pat my back, give me hugs, tell me I am brilliant and amazing for completing such a daunting task. Otherwise, I feel running it is in vain. But I have to run it regardless of the praise on the other end. I have to hold my own, prove my strength, and endure to the end. And at times, it is a very lonely, challenging road.
When the weather gets cold and dreary, I walk and grumble and complain about the cold. When a surge of hope bursts through the clouds, I pick my feet up and pick up the pace.
Right now I am shutting my eyes to the reality of the winter. Holding my breath. Waiting for it to pass.
Lucy's death has defined me. I think it will define me for the rest of my life. I don't think that's a bad thing. It is just a huge, enormous, bigger- than- myself thing. It haunts me, it teaches me, it refines me, it traumatizes me, it shapes me, it wears on me, it angers me, it enlightens me.
What's the weather like in your neck of the woods?
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