The Whiles

In case you didn't notice, there were five days between when I wrote last and tonight's posts. The reason for the brief hiatus from my blog is really quite elementary, my friends. I was happy. I had a happy five days in which nary a tear rolled down my cheeks. I laughed, I played, I ran, I sang and I had tons of fun with friends and family. I even felt whole, again. I even felt whole again without feeling guilt. That's a HUGE deal, yet I neglected to report. I must put this right.

I only write this because it occurred to me that I left out a very important, essential part of my writings. This blog I have created to illustrate the ebbs and flows of the grief process, yet I was not being true.

The truth is that I am usually inspired to write when I'm sad. That's been the case my entire life. When I read back on old journals, the entries are chock full of problems and pains. Writing is how I work out my problems and pains.

I really must try to remember to write as close to every day as I can. Then, and only then, will I successfully paint an accurate picture of my grief process.

My out and out breakdown of tonight's earlier post lasted a good hour and a half. The episode kicked my ass and left me in a heap on my bed, on my couch, on the floor, as usual.

However, I am happy once again.

That's the way grief goes. Grief's unpredictable nature is a lot like riding a horse in a rodeo. You get bucked around, stomped on, threatened by a bull, entertained by a clown, cheered on by the masses and when the day's rodeo is all over, you collapse from sheer exhaustion and slip into slumber.

So, I'm happy again for the while. And the whiles are getting longer and longer.

Shneed