Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme

Today in the shower I used my husband's shampoo (Aveda Rosemary Mint, for the curious) something I do very very rarely. As I lathered, the smell of it practically washed over me as a memory.

It was a memory of the first time I used that particular shampoo. I was in a beautiful hotel downtown where J and I had escaped for our tenth wedding anniversary. We were at a point in our lives when we were finally coming up for air from the long hard days of having small children and even smaller amounts of money. It was a blissful weekend, if one notably lacking in places to have breakfast. I remember most wandering the street trying to find an open breakfast restaurant with no luck at all and being somewhat amused that my typical need-to eat bitch, hadn't come out. I remember being mistaken for newlyweds by an older Asian woman also looking for sustenance who asked us with much hope in her face if we knew of a place to eat breakfast.

Sounds lovely I know. A memory that surely would leave me feeling happy and in love with my husband. Which it did. But...

All memories become sad memories. I can't think of a happy time still without feeling, so acutely, that particular emotion is currently and forever unattainable to me. Glimmers here and there exist, but are fleeting and shallow.

10 things I hate about...

I'm not even sure where to start with this. Basically it's September 12th and I spent all day yesterday reminding myself that lots of people face tragedy in their lives. There's nothing special about me or my tragedy. I spent all day yesterday reminding myself that I don't have the right to let my life fall apart around me. Spent all day trying to talk myself into getting my shit together.

And then today I'm back to usual. Unfortunately at this point, usual is nothingness. I am barely functioning. Still mostly hiding it, but... I go to work every day and literally do no work. If I answer one email or run one report it's a successful day. I play games on the internet, read tumblr or stare out my window for an entire work day. This has been going on for weeks. I'm experiencing huge anxiety issues, probably because I'm so petrified that I'm going to be "found out." Every night I lie in bed and assure myself that tomorrow I'll do it all. I'll buckle down and get caught up. It doesn't happen. I'm at a point where I don't even know what's wrong. I don't know if my grief has turned to depression and that's causing this. I mean it's pretty clear that I"m depressed, nothing ever makes me more than mildly less unhappy. Or do I just hate my job? I'm doing so many things that I just don't want to do so it's really hard to motivate myself to do them. Everything seems so hard, like it's going to take so much energy that I don't have. Leaving me wishing that I had had more life insurance on my kid so I could have quit my job. I hate myself right now. I hate that I can't pull shit together. I hate that I'm not the person I once was. I hate that I can't figure out a way out of this mess.

She is NOT risen.

When I was a child Easter was probably my very favorite holiday. Much less stress than Christmas, but a lot more candy. But my very favorite part of Easter was the egg hunt. At our house we colored eggs the night before and the Easter bunny hid them for us (worries of food poisoning be damned). Our Easter bunny was a FANTASTIC egg hider and it usually took my brother and I quite some time to find all the eggs. It wasn't ever a competition, it was a collaborative effort to figure out where they were each year. Then, once they were all found and counted, the real fun began and we would take turns hiding the eggs for each other. All day long we would keep it up. It's one of my best childhood memories of what it is to have a sibling.

In 2009 Easter was on April 12th. One day shy of the one month anniversary of Em's death. I have only the vaguest recollection of the day. I remember having the craziest thoughts the night before that when I woke my girly would be back and would be resurrected, why couldn't she be the second coming? I remember feeling guilty that we had opted for cremation because maybe if we hadn't she would have been reborn that day. And then, I remember being pissed off the entire day that Jesus was resurrected but that my kid was still dead.

But mostly what I remember is being heartbroken for my living child. My beautiful, first born, girly who had been the best big sister from the moment Em was born. She spent the entire day begging her father and I to re-hide eggs for her. My 13 year old girl was missing the sibling interaction in such a visceral, concrete way that it broke my heart and made me realize for the first time that she had lost even more than I had.

I still have a child, she no longer has a sister.

The Great Pretender

And so you go, for a goodly length of time, through the days. Getting through them and sometimes even sleeping through the nights. And you do this by pushing and pushing and trying hard not to remember or pretending that remembering makes you happy, or pretending that life makes you happy, or pretending that "you got this." Pretending you have it together, pretending that you are strong and competent and capable. Pretending so well that everyone forgets that you are not whole, that you are broken. Pretending so well that for a moment you forget, you remember normal, you remember contentment, you remember perfection.

And then it stops. Working. And when it does, when the pretending ends, though you are still pretending for others to see, it seems it will now always be this way. Every time as it begins, it feels as though this will be the time it won't end. And though you think at nearly three years that things seem "better."

"Sometimes I actually forget for a moment and feel happy"

"Well, I actually decorated the Christmas tree this year, last year I only managed to put it up."

"I only cry when something triggers the sadness now"

When it takes back over you are pretty sure this is the time it will never let go. This is it. This time you really are going to break. And at this point breaking doesn't sound that bad. It seems like it might be easier than the pushing and pretending and strength. Giving in seems like it might be a pretty good option.