A Picture's Worth - essays on photographs of personal significance
woke up, went reading...drifting back to the story of bekah's 23rd birthday already blubbering for some reason? i don't know the reason today. maybe because summer is ended and it's gloomy outside. but every picture and every story just about inspires another round of quiet weeping as i sit here reading and reading. the ferment bubbles in me but i am stopped, dammed, useless. it is a good day for counseling.
there's one thing about getting older. it passes - always did. it's easier these days to recall that it will as it always did. that ameliorates it somewhat.
and there's one thing about being a bereft mother. at this stage of the grief i don't really know if this is depression, as in mental illness, a malady that runs in my family [and it sometimes seems through all of humanity], or the grief squeezing on my serenity one more time.
the monster grief. my theory is that over the time since bekah's murder i have alternately grown larger than the grief that will be with me for the rest of my life, or whittled it down to a manageable size. this is how life becomes possible over time after the worst thing that could happen, did.
i have been missing bekah these past few days. just feeling her absence suffocate me with its reality...it is also true that it is grey outside and getting colder during the nights that are getting longer. and that i lost my sunglasses and my checkbook, i don't know where...and there's troubles here and there, and insufficiencies i will save to share til later, or never.

so i don't know. just a funk. writing makes it better too, and reading all over the internet, and crying. ain't nothing quite like a good cry. amen
all of my children and grandchildren, christmas 2000 - bekah's last
- posted by barbara @ 9/24/2003 08:36:00 AM