Hmmmm.....

Hmmmm....

Somehow the holiday season is now behind us...

I'm not even sure exactly what it is I need to write about.  I haven't written for quite some time and I think it's because I'm feeling a little bit like "what is there to say that has not already been said?"

We've been doing this "new life" now for nearly 14 1/2 months.  Two Thanksgivings, two Christmases, two New Year's... and yet so very many more to go.

We are getting more used to, or maybe just more accepting of, the fact that in our life, from here on out, there will be sadness and longing for a different reality, but it will just have to coexist with what "is" and the happiness that will come from what we still have.

People who know me, know that when they see me and ask, "How are you doing?' will very likely get my new (14 month old), standard response of, "Oh, you know, just getting by.  Doing the best we can.  One foot in front of the other and all that."  No longer in my life does it come naturally to respond, "Great, how 'bout you?"

I have always been someone that finds it impossible to hide my emotion or mask how I'm truly feeling, and I have made it a habit for the 33 years I've been on this earth to be honest in all things (or at least do my best to try).

I cannot approach this any differently.  I love my daughter.  I miss my daughter.  My heart is broken in a way I never realized was possible as a result of her death.  (Did you know your heart can be broken and "whole" at the same time?  It's really quite a curious reality).  I cannot tell people when they ask that I am "doing great" because....well, ...because I'm not.

I don't know if I ever will be.

Don't misunderstand me, there are great moments, even days in my life, but I am not great.  I am not whole.  Not really.

It's been said that when you have children it's as if you are watching your heart walk around outside your body.  I totally get that.  I have three gigantic pieces of my heart walking (running and jumping more often) around me every day when I look at the boys.  But that other part, the other gigantic section, I can't see anymore.  It's walking (soaring probably) around in a place I can only imagine.  And that leaves a hole.

I continue to allow the sorrow to come as it feels necessary, and I continue to do my best to put the pieces of myself back together.  It's a slow, painful, sometimes very fatiguing process, but I do it.

"You know, getting by.  Doing the best I can.  One foot in front of the other and all that."