Kate wrote the below on February 7, 2012.
Sometimes, there seems to be no words for it. But I try anyhow.
Tonight, I thought I was mentally strong enough to undertake the task of beginning the "legacy" writing tonight - notes to my kids for their milestones, like birthdays or for their everyday, for when I am gone.
Apparently I am not ready. I am crushed, sucked into a vacuum, fighting to fill my lungs with air. I miss them already. I cannot stop this machine of grief from riding roughshod over me.
These past few days, I have been doing well, living in the here and now. Doing lovely fun things. Buoying me up. And then an unexpected left hook of grief tonight, hit me so hard I can feel it in almost all the muscles of my body. Feeling almost guilty. Don't spoil the tranquility.
Pastor Tim came by today. We talked about the "constellation" that is our life here at #20 - his words. Stars in configuration. I have been meaning to talk to him, connect about the logistics of death as well as the more ethereal topics of what next, what is this, what might it mean, etc. We chatted. We talked about Kierkegaard and existentialism, and how every moment is "defined". We also talked naming conventions - comparing North America with Africa - specifically, Ethiopia, where he and LaVerna are recently home from.