Fragile Existence

There is a fragile existence to living life in grief, fragile indeed. I think of the delicate glass blown hummingbird I so cautiously move around when I am dusting, the carefully wrapped and packed ornaments that I handled yesterday as I attempted to place them on "her" tree, the wine glasses I will wash and place around the Christmas table, indeed, the fragile state of it all. In one instant or in one wrong move, all will shatter and crumble, giving way to nothingness. We are nothing, if not fragile. And grief makes it more so, or is it from knowing some things that others may not, is it our new found "wisdom" that helps us see just how fragile all of this is, all of us are, this day, this life, this mere existence.

Sure, we go about life, after deep, intense loss, as though things are as they once were. How can we not? We don't know any other way, plus, the world expects it, and after all, nothing has changed, externally, that is. We shop for food, we cook, clean, go to work, walk the dog, pay the bills, run the errands, shop for holidays, pack up the boxes, send them on their way, we do it all as before, but unlike ever before. We are fragile, now, an aura of protection around us, a bubble in some ways, a cloud, a halo of fog. We are doing the same things, but we are not the same. We are fragile.

I think I have awakened to the fact and reality that this fragile existence is my norm, now. Sure, by all accounts, I am ME, but take a closer look, beyond the new haircut or color of lipstick, deeper, look into my eyes, and you will find someone who continues to emerge, a metamorphosis caused by losing my child. Look deep and you will find something new each time we talk. I won't know myself some days, other days I will be so strong it will amaze you, it amazes me!! In the next minute, what once was "okay" to say or do with me, will hurt me, will aggravate me, will surge in me an emotion I am not familiar with feeling. Ask me about my day and I will want to sit down and tell you about other things than my day, I will want to tell you a story of Christmas past when Allison was with us, or share a memory of my daughters on Christmas morning, talk about a tradition my parents passed down, and talk even more about them, and how much I still miss them through every holiday and gathering, or I could talk about how I struggle to look past today, for the future is so uncertain, now that she is gone. Sure, I know the future is uncertain at any time, even when our loved ones are here, but I know something perhaps you don't know, and I want to talk about it. But you may not be ready to listen. So, I don't. I treat myself with the kindness I would show someone else, I take care, and own this fragile existence of living with grief. I have come to know that I am my greatest friend, soul mate, confidante. That does not mean I do not want your company, or your kind gestures, or the ornaments, the cards, and the prayers. I want it all, I desire it at times, and other times, I cannot bear it. I am fragile. I may shatter. I may not.