The day and the place he made his first call to his doctor saying he wasn't feeling well.
In front of me is month 8 and our 15 year anniversary, and the moment on the 18th when I saw my fear in his eyes that he was sick again...not knowing what kind of sick it would be.
I am in my little hole...
The dark place that breeds depression and familiar internal turmoil. The hole where I wonder why I keep going, missing his voice, seeing no purpose in Langston, Pallas and Ezra.
I am out of the hole, breathing in the winter (LA style which means no flip-flops) and making smart aleck comments to my smart aleck kids. Belly laughing, enjoying and sad that he is missing this too. Even Mr. No-Sense-of-Humor Ezra is laughing.
I can't figure this out. I feel crazy, like I should be wearing house slippers out and skirt that matches my wild, out of control hair. And then like I am a well coifed woman, striding with confidence and diligence, no stopping me.
I need to write, so I will.
I will post every day for Forty Days
I need to get passed these holidays, and birth into the new year fresh and new and wholer and more fragile in my own strength. I need to see what this grieving really looks like. I need to tell you how you can help, not me but others who find themselves locked in this hell.
Forty days I will expose myself knowing that after the forty, I will rise like phoenix...again.