Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Check out the Over-The-Top (somewhat more) Showgirl-than-British fascinators I made for Royal Wedding Watching.
I've always been of the opinion that getting it all out there and FEELING the grief really is therapeutic and helps with the process. I am still of that opinion. But I've noticed lately I'm so much more sad after an all-out memory fest. Probably because the memories are often painful, yes. I don't know. I don't just want to push it down and focus on other things either, (such as work or cleaning up or menu planning or peacock fascinators) although that seems to help sometimes. I guess it's a fragile balance.
I also have been trying to linger on the good memories and let the bad slide on by. Even that feels like a punch in the gut sometimes. Sigh.
In good news, I have always felt like February and April are the most depressing months of the year; February, because it's awful and I lost two daughters in that month, and April because in High School it always just seemed to be the worst and my crush/boyfriend/best friends/teachers always seemed to treat me unfairly that month. So I think I convinced myself it was bad news, and that feeling has stayed. In fact, I tend to wake up with the words of a cheesy puppy love poem I wrote in high school going through my mind--
It's April in my little land
And I'm still waiting here
The skies a grayish whitish hue
that's been gone for a year
And I recall an April past
that held a best friend's smile
who walked with me and teased and laughed--
we haven't spoken in awhile.
And then I want to barf.
But where I was going with this is that April is almost over, and maybe the sky will finally turn blue and not this infuriating anemic pale it's been for weeks on end. Yuck. It was blue this morning and I, dedicated to finally becoming "A Runner" loaded the kids up and drove 25 minutes to the cemetery to push them around in my $27ratty double jogger I found on KSL (similar to Craig's List, non locals). It was somewhat awesome. I love that cemetery. I parked a mile away from Charlotte and Lily's grave and made my way there past prophets and pioneers, fox holes and owl's nests. I re-gathered the plastic eggs and flowers we left there on Sunday, and went back the way I came. I even ran a little. (Turns out the hills are even more hilly when pushing two toddlers.)
I will do it again. But I will bring two string cheeses and not expect Ella, age 2, to share. Foolish of me, really.