My poor readers, I abuse you so. I'm not certain why you're still along for my constant self-absorbed navalgazing, but I guess you get something out of this blog. I'm feeling quite guilty when I look back on my last several posts. They don't reflect very well my state of mind, overall. Unfortunately, my urge to write is wrapped up in looking for a catharsis for my grief. Hey, whatever works. But to look at the blog I should be close to slitting my wrists, and I'm far from that.
Overall I feel really, really good about my life. The grief continues to come in waves, and the days that I spend constantly biting my tongue so as not to cry are the days that I have to get it out, to come up with yet another metaphor for my grief. So through the emotional muck I drag you. It's not really fair of me.
The Smak family had a great weekend. A weekend trip, we revisited old roots, and got reacquainted with some old friends, going back to the town where we lived for eight years before relocating to get back closer to family. It was heartwarming in so many ways; definitely some good new memories. I didn't think of Henry as often as usual, which was ok with me. I was able to talk a lot about him without it hurting, again welcome. It was strange to see our old next door neighbor on her porch, we stopped the car when driving by the old house to say hi. The girls were put through the obligatory "My how you've grown" and I realized she had no idea that we had birthed and lost another child in the interim. Part of me wanted to mention him, but of course that wouldn't have been fair to her.
It was a whole part of our lives as a family that he was never a part of, and never will be. And I want that to be ok, because there's a lot more to come that will fall into the same category.
Anyway, readers, I'm pretty good. Not great, but good most days. I figured that I'd throw you a bone.