I’ve simplified it.
1. Utter shock and devastation.
2. Realization that you can’t fix it and have to live with it.
3. Missing your child for the rest of your life.
Some idiot challenged me to a fight online. I found his real life phone number and called him. He was two states away. I was willing to drive hundreds of miles to get into some stupid school yard fight with some other old guy that I didn’t know over something I didn’t even care about. And I didn’t care what happened.
Because I’m sad. Because I’m angry. Because I can’t let go of stuff. Because I’ve become thin skinned. Because I just don’t care. I’m lucky that other people do.
I’m not alright. I am broken inside. And no matter how I cope, there is this small circle I run inside, from whatever temporary joy I can find on the surface to those darker depths. And whenever I think I have found something to keep me on top, at some point I lose hold of it. So I get up every day and go to work and make the best of it.
And really not only is that good, perhaps that is the best I can hope for now.
So this guy is shocked and wants to hang up, but doesn’t… and I think I scared him enough so he backed off. I told him I’d buy him coffee or a beer and he finally extricated himself. And it keeps him from trolling me online. So it worked out.
So I find some space to laugh at that and try to think a little clearer next time.
The rest of my life is happening now. Chores and work. Trying to lose weight. Watching the Olympics. Painting. Setting up for a show on Saturday. Preparing lessons for tomorrow. Writing this blog. And I know I can do this today, because I’ve been doing this for a while. The devastation is behind me. The realization is with me. The loss is in me. And I go on.