Sunday morning again. The cat and I made it through another week. It might be more accurate to say I barely squeaked by during parts of the week, but squeak by I did, and I take some measure of victory from that.
The reality of it all has started to sink in. She's really not coming back no matter how much I pretend. No matter how much I go about my day staying busy, busy, busy, she is not coming back. There is no way I can avoid this truth, regardless of my best efforts to do so. It catches up to me during the day and by late afternoon I find myself on the couch in a fetal position watching old movies. Yesterday I had a really great sobbing, snorting, wailing and cleansing session, the kind where your stomache churns and your chest aches. I had been avoiding it for weeks, but it finally broke free. It wasn't pretty, but I felt better afterwards. This is how it's going to be, the brick wall keeps rebuilding on the path in front of me and there's only one way to move through it. Honestly, I have no other choices.
I've decided to name the gallery Lucky Girls. Ellen and I always talked about how lucky we were, even after she was diagnosed. Despite everything, despite a crying session on the couch every day, I know how lucky I still am. I have wonderful friends who have been such a comfort and support, this gallery adventure is really happening, decisions are being made, things are falling into place and the cat seems to tolerate my company most of the time. It's a balance, holding on to the good while feeling the depth of this grief. I am under the guidance of an angel.
Lucky girls we are.