A year ago my life was normal.
A year ago my wife and I slept in the same bed.
A year ago I rode in the same vehicle to church with my family.
A year ago I didn't know the horror that lurked around the corner.
A year ago I was days from disaster and didn't know it.
If I knew a year ago what I know now, I would change everything about everything to make everything better.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Elevator
At work there is an elevator. You can choose UL (Upper Level) or LL (Lower Level). Not much of a choice. Not much of a ride. But it gives me a few moments alone. I have learned I can cry or release a sob of anguish and recover as if nothing's wrong before the doors open. I've got it down to a science... timing my grief just long enough to get the effect of my anguish without jeopardizing my feelings in public.
Sometimes, it's just the simple things in life where private meets public life that makes it all worthwhile. The ability to release the grief into the atmosphere unobstructed and unobserved in a public place where I spend much of my time.
It's almost a naughty way of saying, "I can cry at work if I want to. I can think about you if I want to. I can be insanely sad if I want to and you can't stop me with your new life of separation from me."
Just me and my elevator. Who would have thunk such a simple device would create such solace, albeit brief and sporatic?
Perhaps if I had a longer elevator commute, my grief would develop to the unbearable stage. As it is, the brevity affords insulation from debilitating breakdowns and the cumbersome climb to stability and normalcy which follow.
Sometimes, it's just the simple things in life where private meets public life that makes it all worthwhile. The ability to release the grief into the atmosphere unobstructed and unobserved in a public place where I spend much of my time.
It's almost a naughty way of saying, "I can cry at work if I want to. I can think about you if I want to. I can be insanely sad if I want to and you can't stop me with your new life of separation from me."
Just me and my elevator. Who would have thunk such a simple device would create such solace, albeit brief and sporatic?
Perhaps if I had a longer elevator commute, my grief would develop to the unbearable stage. As it is, the brevity affords insulation from debilitating breakdowns and the cumbersome climb to stability and normalcy which follow.
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