So this is life..............

Tonight is one of those night where I feel like slave to my thoughts, to my memories. I should be in bed, I should have gone hours ago, and put my weary mind to rest, but here I sit. Parked in front of my computer screen, melancholy music playing, and the faint hum of appliances keeping me company, the house is otherwise still and quiet, the perfect breeding ground for lamentations and wandering thoughts.

Tonight I'm thinking of the past, which is most often the case. I'm thinking of what I've had and what I've lost, and how things could have been, how they should have been. I'm thinking of Everett, and of Elvis, and there's an undeniable ache in my chest and a welling of heat and moisture behind my eyes. Tonight I'm waxing poetic, and philosophic, and I'm eager to make some sense of this mess that has become my life. Joe Purdy, my companion in grief, is providing a thoughtful and heartfelt soundtrack to tonight's soul searching, thanks Joe.

Life appears to be a series of highs and lows, successes and failures, celebrations and mornings. We ride the ups and down's like a roller coaster, sometimes exhilarated with hands in the air, some times terrified and pleading for the operator to stop the ride. In hindsight we can see that the ride wouldn't have been quite as thrilling without the fearful apprehension that comes before the twists and loops, its the unknown and the fear there of that adds the element of excitement and the feeling of being truly alive. Too bad we generally only know this in hindsight. Generally in life, we only enjoy the highs, the predictable joys of life at its best. But the highs wouldn't feel high if the lows weren't so darn low now would they? Damn life's lows for being as necessary as breath.

I tried to go to bed tonight, at a decent hour, determined to make up for some lost sleep, but my book I was reading until fatigue overwhelmed me made me sad, and contemplative. Having been so tired to begin with, my defenses against sad thoughts were weakened, and I allowed myself to think of my husband. Not with anger, or with resentment, but with love and with longing, and I ached to feel the shift of weight in the bed as he climbed in beside me, the tug on the duvet as he settled himself in, even the uneven and noisy shift of his breathing as he drifted from conscious, to semi conscious, to dead to the world. Tonight I miss my husband.

And since I'm indulging in painful longing tonight, I thought of Everett too. I strained to remember the weight of him in the crook of my left arm, the silky dark hair on his head, the tiny cleft of his chin, and my heart nearly stopped beating. I flashed to a photograph of me in the NICU with both babies, one cradled in each arm, displayed proudly to the camera, fatigue and joy adoring my face. This is how it was, and how it should have stayed. The life I wanted. The life I'll never know. Damn life for changing just when it gets comfortable.

The truth is, I don't regognize my life. I don't know the tired and worrisome woman in the mirror, with dark sad eyes that project a muddle of confusion and pleading. Pleading to be rescued from this disaster, saved from this difficult phase of life. I've entered into one of those dips of the roller coaster, I'm in the midst of a big loop, I can't see what lies ahead and I'm one of those riders calling out for the man at the controls to have mercy and stop the ride. But the ride won't stop, and I know it, just like riders on a thrill ride, you're on it to the end, whether you're having fun or not, you just have to trust that the maker of the ride knew what he was doing, and you'll come out safely on the other side. That trust is difficult. Damn faith for being so contrary to human nature but so incredibly vital and important.

Not too long ago I was a happily married woman, a young mother with a glorious baby girl and identical twin boys on the way. I was basking in all my pregnant glory, feeling elated and womanly and proud, feeling vital and important and undeniably pleased with life and my many blessings. Not long ago, my life made sense, I was comfortable in my own skin, I was excited for what was next.

Now I'm strained, weary and unrecognizable. Abandoned, confused and pained with more loses then I ever cared to know. I bask in nothing, but am in constant search of refuge from my life and from myself. I'm calling out to God for comfort and protection from this world, and though I can't hear him, I am thankful that I still have enough faith left to know that he's here. Having been through loss and pain and despair before and having had my faith strengthend for it, I'm not so hopeless now as I could be, and have been. I know that this is life, a big, crazy, brilliant and horrifying ride. I know the highs are fabulous and the lows are devestating, but I also know that at the end that both are vital in making the ride memorable, and real, and relevant.

I should have gone to bed hours ago, just turned out the lights, pulled up the covers and given way to my tired mind, and I would have, if thoughts were as easy to turn off as lights. Waxing poetic and feeling deeply contemplative, I'm in no condition to sleep. Ironically, as tired as I am, and with feelings and thoughts as clear as mud, I'm in no condition to think either.

Perhaps the best thing to be done tonight is indugle in a big dose of B-Flo therapy, it never fails to make my heart beat faster, and skip a beat or two as well!

Katie