For Thor - 14 - Floe

Normal life. I admit, I resent it and its persistent knocking at the door. How the hell is it possible that the world is still trudging along like nothing happened? I get my fair share of advice from people who may or may not have traveled this road, many of them offering the same words of encouragement; a return to normal life, whatever the heck that means, is going to help me. Help me do what, I wonder? Get through? Get past? Move beyond? Live with? I don't know what or how it will be for me down the road. Is it wrong to say I can't "do normal"? At least, not yet?

I have been testing out ideas to resume my "normal" schedule. It's a dicey business. I poke and prod the notions of work, responsibility and community service like an explorer in the Arctic testing the stability of chunks of ice in a floe. They are not stable enough to stand on, to take action on. Not yet. They would flip me off and into the icy sea in a second if I put weight on them. But like a floe, these pieces of my life, these pieces of me, move along a gentle current. They spin and swirl in eddies of pragmatism and life-affirming need to serve and love others. They gather piece by piece and knit together into new forms. These new forms just may be able to bear weight…

I tentatively test them with a mental probe. Am I ready to take this on? Not yet.
How about just a tiny piece of it? Maybe. This is progress toward the regular pace of normal life. I suppose it's good. I still resent it.

Each moment that passes takes me further away from the you that walked here on this Earth with me. Each moment that passes pushes us deeper into a new dynamic, the one where I don't get to hold you in a hug or share the ups and downs of this life with you here on this Earth. Each moment that passes takes me further away from the warmth of your smile and the sound of your voice. The everyday actions of normal life will accelerate this terrible time slippage. It will distract me as time ticks by and when my attention again turns to reach for you, I will find that you are even more ethereal than before. I resent the shit out of this. I know it's inevitable. I know I must rebound and re-engage. I know…I know… But damn, it's hard to step out into my life when I know you will be left here, frozen in time, forever nineteen. I'll become an old lady, a grandma to your brother's kids. But never for yours. I hate moving forward and leaving this you behind.

The daily ritual that I do each day helps. Hatha Yoga, a little meditation, hot coffee, write to you, sweep the floors, make the bed, walk outside where I can talk to you. Love up your brothers and your dad. I cry when the waves crash over and through me. Each day I gain strength and perspective as I learn to live with your death. The totality of what it means to body, mind and soul is gradually integrated into my being. If that's not a testament to the resiliency and strength of a human heart, Thor, I don't know what is.

New ideas for living a life replete with love, joy, and happiness surface once in a while. Like tiny colored fish, they dart across the sea of my mind and draw my attention for a second before they are gone in a flash, back into the subconscious. It is there that they will continue to grow and bring new patterns for living into my heart. They are not ready to show themselves for long. Not yet. For now, it is enough that I know they are there. They are hope, Thor. Perhaps you sent them to help me find my way back to 'normal' and maybe even, to once again, experience joyful laughter.

I love you,
Mom