It turns out nothing much happens when you're laid up with a broken toe, except playing poker and losing to an eight and ten year old.
I decided three days ago I was going to do Something.
It's been almost eight months now. How much longer will This go on? How much longer will I stay like This? I don't like This. I don't want to fight and resist This, because I understand This is all part of The Process. There are no rules for grief, after all. But neither do I want This to become a permanent state, my main mode of existence. When your kids begin asking, "Mom, are you okay?" a couple of times a day, This has to begin to change.
I need Something. Something to propel me forward.
Over the weekend, I stumbled across one of my old Mouthy Housewives post and read it and immediately thought...
Heh, I was funny!
Then I realized I've lost almost eight months of recording memories. Granted, it's eight months of memories I don't want to remember, so I guess it's okay. But my writing/blogging - it was never about money or attention from the internet. Okay, so maybe it was a bit about attention from the internet. But it was also about remembering.
Remembering to laugh at life as I raise two boys. Remembering to record the ridiculous. The insane. How the fire alarm became the way the boys knew dinner was almost ready.
I miss being funny. I'm not sure I know how anymore.
I miss capturing those little moments that add up to Life. I want to read back over our life in 15 years, 20, 30, and say, "Look boys. We lived."
So I decided on Something.
I decided I would begin recording our life in pictures, until words could come to me again...until I find who I am after tragedy.
And apparently this "new me" resembles a flamingo since this is how I currently stand 75% of the time I'm upright. At least every time P is near me. He has a propensity for stepping my toes anytime he comes within three feet of me.
P.S. My knee, which used to look like a smiling face, now looks like an old man without his dentures. Thank you, middle age.