Beginning a post like this is difficult. Because sometimes, even for a writer, the words just aren't there. At least the right words don't seem to be. But words are what I have, no matter how inadequate mine feel right now.
My last post told about my beloved mother-in-law's Grade 4 brain aneurysm. The day after I posted that entry, three weeks ago now, she died. The bleeding in her brain was too severe. The damage too complete. And after an eleven day fight, her body gave out too.
As you all know, because none of us is immune from tragedy, time moves along. Even after a tragedy. Those days where regular things must be attended to. The laundry must be washed. Meals must be prepared. Jobs must be returned to. Kids activities resume. Even bathrooms must be cleaned. But there's comfort in the regular, and after all the irregular, the regular is a good place to be.
But at the same time, when you're doing all your regular stuff, like walking your dog, you see people zoom by in their cars, unaware of your tragedy. Unaware of your pain. Unaware of your life shift. And you think, "How does regular life simply keep going?" But it does. And I know those people zooming by in their cars have their own tragedies, their own pain, their own ways that life has shifted. Things that I am unaware of.
So that's where I find myself right now. Resuming the regular . . . but the regular feels both comforting and discomforting all at once.