For months I tried to busy myself with different things...watercolor, pottery, writing, poetry, gardening, stained glass, counseling sessions, support groups, blogging. Suffice it to say, I spent a good chunk of change to keep myself in the world of the living. I'll consider it an investment in life, my life. Not that I wanted to make that investment, but it kept me alive over the last year.
Now, it seems I'm suspended in the loop of time. There is no driving force to compel me to go do anything...instead, I'd rather rest. I want to stop, look around and take it all in. Unfortunately for me, that rest is complicated by the memories it allows to surface. It's one of the reasons why I did so much...some of my memories are haunting, dangerous, treacherous waters. Memories are the door to a host of complicated emotions, they give knowledge about why I am where I am. Memories are one of those things to which I've developed a love-hate relationship. However, good or bad, painful or joyful, memories of Wyatt are all I have, they bring me peace or send me to the depths of despair.
At times, it's all I can muster to shut the floodgates and protect myself from the onslaught of pain. Something as simple as a newscaster describing a patient after a tragedy, the person awaiting an organ transplant, the sound of an ambulance, the H sign for hospital or the obituary of a child. These things crack open the door allowing the pain to seep in. It doesn't have to be anything about me, Jim or Wyatt. Is has to do with life, with love, with humanity. Compassion is the sharing of our pains, allowing others to grieve with you, allowing yourself to grieve with them.
Besides my faith in God, it has been the kindness and support of friends and strangers that has held me. I've been graced with beautiful people in my life. A multitude of people from all walks of life, from all over the globe have shared our pain and acknowledged our loss. That means something. For me, it translates to life.
Now, it seems I'm suspended in the loop of time. There is no driving force to compel me to go do anything...instead, I'd rather rest. I want to stop, look around and take it all in. Unfortunately for me, that rest is complicated by the memories it allows to surface. It's one of the reasons why I did so much...some of my memories are haunting, dangerous, treacherous waters. Memories are the door to a host of complicated emotions, they give knowledge about why I am where I am. Memories are one of those things to which I've developed a love-hate relationship. However, good or bad, painful or joyful, memories of Wyatt are all I have, they bring me peace or send me to the depths of despair.
At times, it's all I can muster to shut the floodgates and protect myself from the onslaught of pain. Something as simple as a newscaster describing a patient after a tragedy, the person awaiting an organ transplant, the sound of an ambulance, the H sign for hospital or the obituary of a child. These things crack open the door allowing the pain to seep in. It doesn't have to be anything about me, Jim or Wyatt. Is has to do with life, with love, with humanity. Compassion is the sharing of our pains, allowing others to grieve with you, allowing yourself to grieve with them.
Besides my faith in God, it has been the kindness and support of friends and strangers that has held me. I've been graced with beautiful people in my life. A multitude of people from all walks of life, from all over the globe have shared our pain and acknowledged our loss. That means something. For me, it translates to life.
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