Rumination. Grief. Whatever.
Tonight (this morning) I sit in my brother-in-law’s old bedroom, which is next door to Bryce’s old room. Dani is asleep in there. I am haunted by memories, as each of my senses takes a pummeling. I hear the cuckoo clock every half hour and the dogs lapping from their bowl, which intensifies all other senses as the night plods on. Sleep is not happening tonight--no way. I remember coming to this house in the middle of the night after my shift at the tissue bank in 2002. Bryce would wrap me up in a dozen blankets and we’d watch TV until he fell asleep, then I’d go home. It still smells like Bryce up here, and it’s still FREEZING. (Where is Brady’s stocking cap??)
I have been trying to distract myself by surfing the internet, which means checking up on dozens of blogs. It’s interesting--almost surprising--that life goes on. Somebody’s kid just turned 4. Trick-or-treat stories. Wedding pictures. Christmas shopping. Everybody’s kid is cutting their own hair off. New babies, Disneyland, and a camping trip. I’m stalled—in suspended animation. Blogging has become increasingly difficult--when written, my thoughts become egocentric, self-congratulatory narcissism. (I guess that’s the definition of a blog?) How can you go camping when Bryce just died? How are babies born, recitals danced, and horses ridden? Don’t they know what just happened?? (Should I be attempting this "transition" without some form of therapy? Any suggestions?)
Come back, Bryce. This can’t be real. This cannot be my life.
P.S. Recently, someone who knows better (who, incidentally, has claimed to have followed/cared about Bryce's story) acted surprised when I admonished "them" to stay out of the tanning bed. "Are they sure his cancer was due to sun exposure?" Come on. STOP KILLING YOURSELF. Death is not pretty, even if you have a tan. KNOCK IT OFF.