Wounds

I still cry daily. It seems when the house is quiet, or I am alone, or perhaps a song comes through on the radio, or also the shower. The shower seems to be the most likely place I feel comfortable in letting my sorrows out. It is quiet and warm, The steam fills the air letting you believe you are in another space, maybe time. The air is thick, I play Pandora softly for the silence would be too much. When I emerge I am exhausted after the trip to the past, reliving the good and the awful memories. I used to shower daily but I have found it uses up too much of what is left of my energy and I know what is to come as I step into the abyss. I am sometimes scared that I won't come out the same. I have changed so much over the last 5 years that I really don't remember what I was like before 2008. What is the same? I did put my energies into what now seems silly. I fought battles that were completely unnecessary. I walk away now. It's probably for the best but I also long for the woman I was, the mom, the wife, the fighter. That ship has sailed and took my courage with it. For how can one who is responsible for the death of her son, the destruction of her family, their faith, their happiness ever feel comfortable in her skin again. This spirit will never fill this vessel completely . Politics, religion, poetry, literature have no meaning, no admiration in my heart. I live for a simple smile, a 'I love you', a text, a call from my children, a  'mom you're crazy'. I wear it like a badge. All of these keep me going for another day. Everyday I am grateful for Lea for she yells" I'm here" when she hears me singing "You are my Sunshine". That song chokes me each time it comes to mind. I used to sing it to Loughlin as a baby, a toddler, because I had lost Rhiannon. Please don't take my Sunshine away, but he was taken and now I am expected to go on, pretend like everything is happy in this home, that we are strong, that we are resilient, that we can go on as if they were never here. No one mentions their names. They are but a mere memory in those around us's minds. They look upon us with pity, not with sympathy, or empathy for they have never felt this loss. In fact they go as far as to tell us they believe they could handle this tragedy in a manner so much more eloquently than we have. Asked if we have Pride in our ward in Sunday School last week, I let out a chuckle. No one else thought it funny...................