Time

Last night I dreamed about Natasha's funeral; it was dark and full of people I didn't know.   They asked me difficult questions that I couldn't answer.   The day before, at the gym, some song I had never heard before sent me stumbling and sobbing into the showers, crying that I missed her.  Maybe because the tumult from last month is slowing down, these Natasha bumps (as in bumping up a topic in an Internet forum to keep it active) have been happening. With less to occupy it, my mind goes to her, sometimes unwillingly.

Time is one of my Higher Power's most used and subtle tools. Its progress is it is slow yet incontrovertible.  It is important to choose carefully which paths I want to use, as it won't be until months, years, or even decades until the consequences are seen.  

During my hospitalization, I found comfort by simply saying the words, "I am alright." Saying the words could make it happen. There were times when it was harder to do that than others; plenty of black, sleepless nights where I felt imprisoned in a Michael shaped cell.   But stumbling through the black corridors of my head, eventually, I would find some nugget, some glimmer of light that I could latch onto.   Sometimes, just saying, "I don't want to feel this way any more," or "Jesus, help me." would bring help.  But even imagining the worst case scenarios left me some hope; it might not be the life I wanted, but I had confidence in my ability to adapt.

Now however, even the best case scenarios still leave me without a daughter.  I can't imagine a time when I will ever be alright again.  There will always be a sharp pain in my heart, an unbearable weight of despair on my shoulders and a vast, empty place inside my thoughts where she used to live.

A capella group, Vocomotion, sing one of my favorite songs

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