We bought a Christmas wreath for Miss Mali. It sits on a stand by her niche in the mausoleum. I decided to decorate it. I put a few ornaments and a string of tiny LED lights. It’s the only decoration I have done for the holiday.
The wreath is already dry and crumbling. The needles drop to the floor with the slightest touch.
It reminded me of her short life, once vibrant and beautiful. Now, fading like the remnants of what was hers. Her clothing and room no longer smell of her. The joy when she would enter a room is gone. I can’t hear her laughter anymore. She is fading.
Life is so short. Such a cliche. I suppose after 8 months moving on is the direction I should be going. I want to say I am in certain aspects. I seem to be at a crossroads. One foot in the past one in the present.
The world did not stop moving.
The season with its changes, the cold, the Advent, impending Christmas are overwhelming to me. I am merely a watcher. I am still waiting for her
Does a heart grow back after losing a child? I am guessing the original grows a great amount of scar tissue. Rope like bands of cicatricial tissue that give very little stretch.
Reflecting on my own life leaves me at a crossroads as well. My instinct is to run like hell. Get as far away from this pain as I can. Find a new life.
I am not sure what I am doing most days. I stand my ground. I am fighting for my life now. It’s a quiet fight. The longing to follow her is not as loud as it was. If I concentrate, I can breathe without despair. The fog is still here however. I hope the light I know and have faith in is on the other side of the tule.