Not Alone

We received a very beautiful letter in the mail today from someone we do not know. We are linked, unfortunately, by the unfathomably torturous, and soul-shredding loss of a child. An explosion-in-common has devastated our realities and the few scattered remnants of a life now long gone are all that remain.  It is difficult to even recognize what these pieces were before... Before happiness ended.

For me there's no real way to put any of the pieces back together to create any semblance of the whole, but there is an exhausted thread holding up what remains of -- I can't find the word(s) -- the remains of me is all I really know to say right now, and, well, this string was made a little stronger today by the beautifully sincere words of a stranger.  

Thank you Kim for sharing your words with Erin and me.  A very thoughtful and kind message.  Thank you.

I wish that our stories did not have to be told.

"Beautiful Day"

'Tis a lot like walking on the floor of a lake I'd say. Y'got your mask on, you can breath, you can see -- in fact, with a labored glance to the surface you can see the sun, and the cloudless blue sky -- but it's all filtered through the brownish, particle-filled haze of the water so there's just no seeing it like everyone else. Sure, they say it's a beautiful day, certain you must know what this means, and you scan your memory for what a beautiful day looks and feels like but the feeling, the sights, the smells... They're all gone - the line of cognition severed. 

Lead boots hold fast your feet... Slow and tiring this walking on the lake floor but there's no other way; no other choice but to get to the other side only to turn around and do it again, and again, and again. Because they need you to. They all need you to. They all need you to keep moving. Even the ones that shouldn't matter need you to keep moving. 

Tired. Hurts to breath. Curse this stale air! Would that this damnable tank just empty and fill me no more.

HEARING HIM

Above the dialogue on the television and the soft hum of my laptop I heard Willem call out, as if in the distance - and more like a question than a statement -- "Hello?"  It was his voice.  So much so that I replied to him... "Hello?"

Never before in my life have I ever wanted so badly to hear a voice emanate from somewhere other than what we are programmed to understand.  I answered back with a hope beyond measurement; beyond expression...  A longing...  Such a longing.

After turning off the television, and over the hum of my laptop, I heard the unfortunate reality of the ethereal hello: it was only my stomach.  The mundane physical reality of hunger.  So earthly.  So disappointing.  So real.