Monday, December 12, 2011

A crack

There is a crack in my armor. I am not invincible against December, though I was starting to feel like I was.

It started just a hairline last night. I stepped out of my office and saw both my Christmas trees—the full tree and Henry's little tree—glowing. The house was quiet and a glow filled the darkness. I took it in. I smiled. Peace and joy and love.

And the memory of why I have that small tree covered in cardinals and hearts surfaced. It's not that I forget that Henry is dead, but sometimes I don't have to really think about it any more than I have to remember to breathe. But sometimes like last night, it hits me. A gasp, a quick sob. No lying on the floor. No crying for hours, but a crack.

Today, all my efforts to keep things simple fell apart. Brian introduced all kinds of projects into the day despite my efforts, and I ended up doing alone what I thought we would do together and finishing up one of his projects. So I spent the afternoon in a pissy mood and cried some more.

It doesn't help that I'm tired. It doesn't help that I feel fat and most of my clothes don't fit and I can see in pictures how I've gained weight since summer. It doesn't help that despite my best efforts and intentions I'm coming into some tight deadlines for work. It doesn't help that the 17th is drawing nearer.

But I'm not lost yet. As I sat in the car, taking deep breathes, waiting to pick up our pizza, I remembered all the kind words of support I've received this month. While I was gone, Elizabeth took her first steps. My behind schedule author sent me an email telling me how amazing I am. And now my work files have uploaded. I'm going to go sit in the glow of my Christmas tree and light a candle for my boy and drink some chamomile tea. And tomorrow I will do my work and take a run and try to take care of me some more.

It's still December. I'm cracked open, but I'm still standing.


  1. Oh Sara. I was reading this post while making breakfast and now I'm having a quick sob in to Reuben's porridge. I think I know what you mean. I look at Georgina's death sideways most of the time, out of the corner of my eye. It's when I look at it head-on that it hits me. And hurts me.

    That small tree, decorated with cardinals and hearts. So much love.

    I'm sorry about the tiredness and the extra, unexpected projects. Thinking of you and your dear boy over these coming days and sending virtual hands across continents for you to lean against should you need them xo

  2. Thank you, both. Funny how words from so far help me so very much not feel so alone.

  3. Isn't it amazing how we can hold it all together through all kinds of scenarios, and then something just knocks the wind right out of you? Oh my. Your trees sound lovely. How I wish henry was there with you to enjoy it all. Sending you love, friend.