I haven't felt much like writing, journaling or even texting. I'm guessing this is another phase of numbness, another step along the grieving path. The grief is a part of me now, something I let out every once in a while so that it doesn't build up too much.
I wrote something in my journal one day after going to church on Sunday. Church was hard during the singing. It's as if I'm staring at heaven, knowing Cayden is there and how good it is, and it uplifts and breaks my heart at the same time. I've been savoring this poignancy since it is one that does not overwhelm me and it is a source of hope.
The Orclette asked me the other day why I was still sad, why I still had days where I struggled to function normally. I told her that it would never truly go away, but that she and Miniorc were sources of joy for me.
It has to be a rough time to be a friend to someone, after they've lost someone. I'm fortunate (not really fortunate, of course, since I'd rather it not happen at all) in that my friends understand grief. There are some who still look as though they don't know how to talk to me, but there are others who understand, who don't flinch when I talk about my memories of Cayden.
I have better days and weeks. I'm not always morose, in fact quite the opposite. I know I'll see him again, that he is safe. During our Sunday service last week during the singing I saw, in my mind's eye, if you will, a little boy that looked like Miniorc but not quite. I couldn't focus on that image too long, and I don't know if it was me, merely thinking about what he looked like, or a vision, but it is comforting. As it says in the Bible,
"The last enemy to be destroyed is death." 1 Corinthians 15:26.
And it is Friday.