We hardly talked today. There were few exchanges and little effort. We slept in and then laid next to one another, our eyes and toes facing the ceiling, our hearts fragile. She showered and I slowly packed up our shared suitcase. We had breakfast at a little diner and made a few comments about the food. A pregnant woman sat in the booth across from our table, looking so happy and free in her third trimester. On the drive home, we couldn’t even muster a sentence. Sadness hung over us like rain and every time I tried to claw my way back to a rational thought, the sadness seemed to take notice and gush with more force.
But what is there to say? Do we repeat everything that has been said already?
In the past, pre March 24, sadness never stayed around very long. Partly because I’m not one to dwell on the despondency of life. And partly because my nature has always been to overcome it with some form of distraction or positivity. But now, post Margot, the sadness comes and I have zero motivation to overcome it. Nor do I feel any need to get over it. And sometimes, like today, I don’t want to get over it. For there seems to be some kind of strange healing in my new friend named sadness. It feels like this sadness, which lurks around every new hour, hides in every conversation, and stares at me in the distance, just might eventually be my ticket to acceptance.
April 23, 2011
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4 comments:
Many are still carrying you ...and just want to let you know that if we could, we would ....carry more of the sadness Riya (from Moline)
Josh, you are one dang good writer.
And husband.
And father.
And person.
You are still being prayed for every day.
You write so well....and your words make the deep valleys of life seem navigable. I believe that the extent that you feel the deep sadness of your loss is born from your ability to love so deeply those that are entrusted to you. Keep sharing your journey!!!
And may we never feel the need TO get over it... because we don't have to.
Your words so eloquently describe what i think many grieving people are feeling. When the world, society, and everyone else says "Move on," grieving people can say, "No. I don't want to. I never will. Things will change, sure, but I'll never move on. Instead of telling me to move on, can you just say her name? Remember her? Ask us our story and let us tell it... over and over again?"
Thanks for your words Josh. Keep telling your story.
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