There comes a point, I think, when you know the worst of it is over.
It's always going to hurt. We've established that. But, for some reason, it feels like there is a tiny little bit of sunshine.
The season has changed. Quite literally. It's gone from Summer, to Autumn, overnight.
Thank God. Summer, it felt like hell. Again, quite literally. The pain, the shock, the trauma.. and the heat, the oppressive humidity.
If there is a Hell on Earth, maybe I've been there.
Or maybe I should not be so cocky. They say God punishes us for what we can not imagine.
He most certainly does.
But....
There comes a point, I think, where you get busy living.. or you get busy dieing.
Living. Sorting out the kinks in your life. Making limbo an OK place to be, where you have some control, until you know, financially, what is going on.
The next few months will be spent waiting.
But that's OK.
I think we need time here, to grieve, to heal. In our Gingerbread House, which is still the Purple House underneath.
So... Lori. Of her essence.
Redefining my whole life.
Redefining what I thought about Tony, what I thought about me. Redefining my ideas on raising children, on dealing with raising a boy-child, on schools and locations and all those other little things I never thought I would be working out for myself. Redefining who I am...
Taking the bits of me, and sticking them back together. Incorporating this new person, this strong, sad person, into the rest of me. What's left of me.
So,I gather up the pieces. The part of Lori that I left, screaming "He's dead, he's dead", clutching her daughter in our back laneway... she's back now, somewhere deep inside, being comforted by a part of my soul that makes cups of tea and teaches yoga and reads stories about fairies before bed.
In fact, it's not just her. There's quite a few pieces of me- a piece I left behind in the ER at the hospital, a piece I left behind in the ICU. A piece of me that grieves for my husband, another that weeps for the sunshine of my purple life. And another that is bitter and jealous, and misses being a 'wife', when she loved being married so.
All of them, gathered up. Along with five year old Lori, gobsmacked that her fairytale has come to end. Comforting each other, receiving comfort from the strength I never knew I had.
I'm stronger than I thought I was, I think.
Or maybe not. Strength isn't optional, sometimes. Sometimes, you just have to keep going.
Because what else can you do?
Except hope, that if you keep going enough, keep pushing through the pain, eventually you are going to want to move forward... not just have to.