Holding out for Eleven

I have begun 2010’s descent into the mucky mire of grief, ever-present even at almost six years, even after welcoming a new love into my life, even after everything I have accomplished since Chris’ death...even after anything...ever...perhaps for the rest of my life. My annual slip-slide into the black hole arrives like clockwork. Mood swings and anger-spells seem to be the main ingredients in my emotional soup du jour as of late.

This year, navigating through the symptoms is trickier. I can’t just cry whenever I need to because I live with Jonathan now, and my engaging in a nightly 6:00 tear-fest would not be fair to him. But the truth is that I still miss Chris, I still love him, and I still wish he didn’t die. Those truths are sturdy enough to build a roadblock to my future if I let them, and if I don’t find/create yet another method of dealing with them, I will surely risk living my life in the past, possibly alone.

No matter what, Chris is gone, whether or not I cry, whether or not I run, whether or not I continue to (try to) move forward, and right about now I’m wishing I could forget he ever existed. If I never met him, I wouldn’t be hurting, right now. But if I never met him, I also wouldn’t be the person I am, today. There’s no erasing Chris. He either lived, loved me, and changed me for the better, or he didn’t exist, and I never learned how to love. His existence was pivotal for me.

Today is going to be a difficult one for me, I can feel it. Once again, I have become tripped up in the minefield of sorrow. Usually, a simple choice to be happy is all I need, but today, I’m fighting making that choice.

All things considered, today is just a day. This particular hour is just one of many potential happy ones.

Maybe I’ll feel better at 11:00.

Shneed