Learning how to live (again!)

Since the Shalebug passed on I have had to find a variety of new ways to occupy my time. During the Shalebug era, there never seemed to be enough time. There were doctors appointments, therapy appointments, early educational appointments, swimming, library and of course, trips to the pharmacy. All of this (and more) while trying to mother the healthy, if somewhat rambunctious, Fric and Frac. And of course, fulfill my wifely duties. (Snicker.) Since then, however, life has come to a standstill. Which is good. I mean, really, how much can one get done while wiping their eyes and blowing their nose? While I may not have had any emotional or physical energy to do anything but grieve, I always noticed the stillness.
Now, however, I feel like the proverbial groundhog. I have poked my head through the hole of grief and found that the sun still shines. Sometimes. Now the stillness, the absence of the Shalebug, ROARS. So in order not to loose my mind, and not focus on my loss, I putter. I am the queen of puttering. I make jam, I make homemade salsa. (Certain friends tend to appreciate this type of puttering.) I crochet baby blankets for the ever-expanding, almost due, pregnant sister. I read, I blog. I even go for the occasional walk.
What I don't do is focus on the searing pain that threatens to throw me to the ground and stomp me into pieces of dust. I don't go out in public if I know I am going to be the topic of entertainment for the local busybodies. (Yes, I am that self-absorbed that I think people have nothing better to do than discuss my state of dishevelment and my family tragedy.) I don't think about how four long months have passed and I still cannot grasp the reality of my son dying. It seems like yesterday that I walked out of the hospital empty-handed. I don't think about what I could have done any differently, because the WHAT IF's can literally kill your spirit. And I certainly don't think about all the people who have moved on with their lives, friends and family alike, and have forgotten my husband's, my children's, and my own pain.
What I am going to try to do is this: I am going to try to process my pain. I am going to try to find a new direction for my life. I am going to try to clean my house on a much more regular, and frequent, basis. I am going to try to be the best mommy to Fric and Frac, because they are the best kids in the world. Even if they refuse to pick up their laundry and make their beds. And I am going to try to fulfill my wifely duties. (Snicker.)
I am going to try to live. I have kind of forgotten how to do that.

My reason to blog

Four months ago I buried my best friend. He was four years, nine months, and 17 days old. Needless to say, I was, am and most likely always will be, devastated. At first I was in shock, really, how can such a tragedy occur to me? (Sayeth one who has the arrogance of living a fairly unblemished life.) I didn't know how to cope, or how to respond. I felt lost and alone. I wanted to reach out and touch someone, anyone, but there was no one to touch. My husband and I were catapulted into the realm of lepers. Friends felt sorry for us, but were secretly relieved it wasn't their child who died. Family was of no help, they too, were in a state of shock and grief. And casual acquaintances found our pain too hard to bear. My honey and I found when we went out in public we would get one of two reactions: the curious stare, or the "I'm going to pretend I am blind and don't see you."
To be honest, I don't know which is worse. I suppose it all depends on which way my mood is swinging that particular day. So support has been hard to come by. Don't get me wrong, there are a few who have been wonderful, and can take full credit for my honey and I not jumping off the nearest cliff. But, living rural, and having dedicated the last five years of my life to child-rearing has effectively killed my networking abilities. So, I turned to none other, than you, dearest internet. And now, I feel strong enough, and anonymous enough to talk about life, love and parenting in rural redneck Alberta.
So here is to another mother clogging up the land of Blogdom. I am taking my leap, won't you fall with me?