I felt good Tuesday. I smiled. I lauged. I felt like I was alive. I tasted the air.

But this is Thursday...

Mourning is a very selfish process. We go to pay our respects to the dead. We go to honor the legacy they have left behind. Meanwhile, the dead are still dead.

Those of us left behind deal the with emptiness the loss has created. We look in ourselves and evaluate how we feel about death and life, and the pain associated with both. Although we rarely wear the appropriate mournful black after the funeral, we wear it in our hearts, in our eyes, in our voices, in our hands, and pass it to the things we touch. We are in pain. Nothing said or unsaid can make that stop. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but I have learned after time and time again, the wounds heal...The scars remain.

Anymore, I cry every day. Sometimes I feel like an endless fountain of tears. Nothing really works to stop it and I'm not sure I would want to even if I could. It's cleansing I suppose, but sometimes hard to deal with.

My head echoes, my eyes ache, my balance wobbles.

I suppose I'm experiencing some sort of shock of all the death and difficulty of the last 2 months.

I've been seeing a counselor. That's been helping. My 30th birthday has come and gone virtually unnoticed by me. My roommate brownies for me. (Thank you, dear.)

I'm hanging on to practicality by a very thin thread. On all major decisions I defer to someone else to make sure my logic isn't flawed.

My brain is so overloaded that it feels like it's going to explode.

So, that's how I've been...
How're you?

She told me to write about
Small
Small as in the size of a mustard seed
Or the size of a gnat.
A blade of grass
Small as in a city
smaller than the wings of an airplane
What it means to be small
To disappear into the air as if
I were never there
Why I desire
Small
To disappear
As the mustard seed is used, crushed,
The gnat is killed
The blade of grass dies
The city disappears into the mist as I get further away
Disappearing as if I were never there.