“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses. ” 

And that is how I continue to grieve mostly. I honor the dates and moments as they come with dance and ritual and flowers and altars. Then, the curious moments arise unsuspected.  I hold them safe, in secret, inside,  I savor them like a piece of ice in my mouth… letting them melt slowly, as every part of me begs to absorb just a drop of the memory. I literally feel the tears in my throat as I continue listening to whomever is beside me. It’s playing a role on the outside while having a completely authentic intense experience on the inside. Who knows this kind of living?!?! Only the grieving I am sure- it is an alternate world forever, grief.

I picked up Lucy on the last day of 2nd grade, hugged her teacher, bought her ice cream, celebrated summer… with my eye on the kindergarten classes letting out… still (!) half wondering why we weren’t picking up Will. Similar moments for Tiger arise when I pass mini soccer groups, or when I don’t need a babysitter during the year until 3 and I don’t understand why I’m not figuring out my work schedule to have a day with him during the week next year.

Boy stuff. Spring weekends filled with practices, and pirate backpacks, and girl cooties. It’s just stuff. Stuff I’ll always wonder about.

We saw the movie Brave yesterday. Lucy hated that movie (her words). She didn’t like how the mom turned bear would have moments of actually turning into a bear and forgetting she was a mom. That’s scary in grieving too. When the Queen turned back into herself, her daughter looks at her and says, You have changed, you are different. It’s more than the grey stripe in her hair. My overnight grey stripe is exactly the same. It’s from the moments I almost stayed with my boys and just about let myself forget this world. My ‘bear moments’ you could say. 

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