Often I find myself mentally transcribing what I would write should I actually find myself sitting in front of my computer with a moment to spare.

Tonight I would have written about Chris' panic every time Maya split her lip open as a toddler (which was pretty close to daily til she was 2) and how I would calmly step in.  He would always ask how I was so calm with so much blood.  Tonight she split her lip and there was tons of drippity droppity blood.   

Last week my post would have been about Maya's nightmares, which have started again.... Last week she was terrified screaming "Run Owen, Run.  Hurry, Run!"  I will be honest.  I couldn't get myself to ask what she was dreaming about.  Big fail.  I didn't want to know.  I'm too often haunted by the dreams Chris had about Owen just before his death. 

Two weeks ago my post would have sweetly remembered the moment I said "I, do."  The declaration which has lead me on this whirl wind adventure of life I had never even remotely imagined. 

In March I perhaps would have told you about the fabulous La Faux and how for just a moment in the midst of drag queens and acrobats I couldn't help think of all the amazing restaurants Chris loved on Capitol Hill.

My point.

I need to write. 

It's cathartic.  It's hard.  At times I have no words for my feelings. 

Grief is every present, in differing degrees and involving a wide range of experiences and characters.  But it's there.  Some times it slips by like a whisper from the lips while during other moments it's the explosion of symbols, impossible to ignore.

Grief.