10.17.2012

I don't know how others do it...make it through these days.

Yesterday my head ached so badly that I convinced Maya to skip movie night at school to stay home and make cookies.  The thought of a gym full of exuberant kids made me feel nauseous.

It was painful.  It was grief.  My body ached.  I spent the day longing to lay in the cool sheets of my bed.

In the aftermath, two years ago, I forced every footstep, made my legs keep moving, willed my mind to keep going.  It's hard for me to stop, to step back, to give myself true space when I need it.

It makes me feel weak.

I know it's just in my mind.

But I've arrived, feeling weak, raw, vulnerable.  I hate it.  It feels disorganized and difficult to complete grasp.

In this moment I secretly feel vaguely proud.  Proud that I am doing it.  Proud that I have moments of weakness.  Proud that my feet keep moving and I keep doing my best.  Proud of who I am and hopeful of who I will become.

Today I will relive it over and over.  The sights, the smells, the sound.  The conversations will float back to me.  The phone calls.  My dad.  My sister in law.  The 911 operator.  The ones I overheard to my sister, my brother-in-law, my friends.  And the ones I imagined, to Chris' best friend....

No I probably won't talk to anyone about it.

My mind is so full of thoughts yet so empty of structure.  Writing is easy.  Speaking, is impossible.

Two year ago my husband died.  He was my friend, my chosen companion, the amazing father to our two precious children.  He was one of the people I respected most in this world.  He had experienced so much and brought extreme peace into my life.  He was full of love, laughter, intelligence and had a wicked streak of goofiness.

In my mind I hear his voice.  In my heart I feel his love.  In my world I feel his influence, encouraging me to keep going, to keep evolving, to accept my faults and to hope for the future.

Rest in Peace Christopher Michael Carpenter.

I will remember, always, always always,