June 21st, 2005


Thank you.

Last night while I was taking a leak, I stared into the mirror above the toilet and thought that I should’ve put what I’d written into better context. Well, first I thought I should’ve posted it without allowing comments (after all, I regrettably berated a friend for mourning his grandmother), but they started to roll in, thoughtful and kind. I didn’t write it so much for feedback, though, as I did to just let it bleed out of my system.

As I said, I was taking a leak, staring in the mirror, my face a mess, and I tried to think of a good first sentence, which to me, is the spark plug for anything I write. Every one I conceived sounded silly in my head, and then I started to think of what fun it would be to come up with the worst opening line for this entry.

Some candidates were:

Just as the ocean crashes to the land, so do my emotions.


Last night, I put my guilt finger down my throat.


”If only…” or “I should have…” or “Why didn’t I?” are all the razor blades that slit my wrists.

The truth is grief is repetitive. For the first two years, those thoughts of guilt were as constant as blinking. After moving to DC, I could lose myself in work, pushing the punishing pain into a nighttime event. Meeting Joe helped more than I can articulate. The last year has been bearable, just.

The cycle is broader now, the paralysis of sadness spaced further apart. When the bucket of bile builds up, though, I need someplace to spill. Unfortunately for you, it’s here. Sometimes it’s triggered by an unintended event, like 30 Days, or it can be the time of year (the month before January 21st has proved to be nightmarish), or many times, a simple memory. I’ve repeatedly written variations of last night’s post, and it’s likely you’ll see it again.

I made many of you furrow and gnash and struggle, all in the genuine hope of helping. You strengthen my faith, the faith I have that people are inherently kind and want to comfort someone in trouble. You bolster my belief that this experience we’re having here on a small random spinning rock is not the sum total of our lives.

I certainly don’t have all of the answers, sometimes barely a clue, but I know I’ll be back in my baby’s arms, and we’ll walk in the sun. With love and faith, we can overcome anything.