The Little Train (Cosy Sheridan)

My blogging modus operandi is scribbling thoughts into a Word document throughout the course of the day, and then sitting down about this time each evening (11 p.m.-ish) to compose and then upload.  I am learning that one of the signs of grief is brain fog, which "happens because your body interprets grief as trauma and begins to shut down to protect itself."  I can assure that it is real.

I had what I felt was a good amount of content and context but, when I clicked on the tab 30 minutes or so ago, it all seems to have disappeared.  F*ck.  

So, I will attempt tomorrow to recreate what I had so painstakingly recorded but, in the meantime, one of the points I did remember is that I have always been one of those people that comes across as clear-headed, focused, and strong of will.  Whenever the kids had some sort of an emergency (Rob's broken arm when he was only eighteen months old... Sarah's jellyfish sting when she was in high school... Eric's hospitalization for pneumothorax/partially collapsed lung in his 20s)... I just handled it and, when the crisis had resolved, I allowed myself to fall apart (just like Glenn Close in The Big Chill).  I haven't really had the opportunity to do that yet, because there is So. Much. That. Needs. Attending. To... 🤯

I meant to write last night that Sarah, Rob, and Duyen are all doing what they can, on so many levels, to lessen the load.  And today our family had a second walkthrough (just me and Chico the first time) at the venue we're using for E's Celebration of Life, then picked up pre-ordered Pub Subs on the way back to Sarah's, where we got quite a lot accomplished in planning the Order of Service.  Have I said yet that the event is Saturday, October 14?  Many family and friends are coming into town for the whole weekend, but you can bet that when Monday, October 16 rolls around, I will be in full-on Let Go Let Grief Mode:  showering, screaming, and sleeping.  No Apologies.  It. Will. Happen.

And thanks to Maggie Smith (the poet, not the actress) for the heads-up to this brutiful (TM Glennon) article, which knocked the wind out of me.  

The loss of Orli is a phantom limb that wakes me in the night or, sometimes, lies dormant with me for hours; I never know which will happen.

SONG:  The Little Train by Cosy Sheridan

BOOK:  The Little Engine That Could by Watty Piper, George Hauman and Doris Hauman (Illustrators)

POEM:  How to forget by Susan Denning

Ashes are meant for cigarettes,

for doused campfires.

When I can’t remember how I got

to the middle, I start over.

When I walk by the cemetery

I stare straight ahead. Do I have

a pure heart? It doesn’t matter.

My love of opposites got me this far—

clouds and dirt. They both carry the past,

but clouds do it in a way

that makes me want to follow.

Today my favorite words are glove and live.

Gloves are meant for breathing hands,

for keeping the world at bay. Look at me

on the assembly line, keeping all the parts

straight. The hem of my coat is singed,

but I sing anyway. I haven’t failed at being human,

if being human means breaking

what you mended and mending it again.

I don’t imagine I’ll be carried up

into the sky. Someone will walk

over me. On the soles of someone’s sneakers,

I’ll see the world again. I’ll love it a little harder.

QUOTE:  “And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, “This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!” And each day, it’s up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say, “No. This is what’s important.” ~ Iain Thomas