My turn to “ramble”…It’s 1:45am and I still can’t sleep.  I’ve been a go-to-bed by 9:00pm and to sleep by 10:30pm gal for years. But 2am has become my new friend.  My 16-year old daughter is a night Imageowl and I have been up much later than her these last 5 weeks…and as Tanamin has stated, it feels so very much longer. 

I think I am replaying Tan’s posting in my mind.  Everytime he said, “…and Kishma said…” I can hear her voice speaking the words. 

I went to a 3-hour workshop this evening on starting my own business.  I’ve had a business license for years as well as a Federal transaction “permit” but I’ve never really taken the leap to get it officially going.  More of an avocation than a vocation… but lately I’ve felt almost an urgency to get it going.  I’m not sure if it’s due to losing my sweet twin, or the impending retirement two years in my future.  It is almost like I need to get it going for her, and to make her proud, though that is illogical now…

I’m still walking around in a bit of a haze…no, let me correct that.  I am walking around completely in the moment and not forward thinking at all, which seems like a haze.  Because I am so used to multi-tasking and planning and thinking. But so many of my thoughts are muffled…like mittens on the hands only on my brain. I know it is a way of self preservation and protection.  And the haze is always thicker during the week, when I am away from my beloved and in the working world.

Quite some time ago I mentioned that I had felt the well of grief engulfing me and I had immediately “pulled myself” back, away from it.  Those that are close to Kishma and I… see what I did there…it is always with her in the present, almost always when I write about her and ALWAYS when I speak about her…

Those closest to Kishma and I know we were hurt when we were young in a way only little girls can be hurt.  Because of this, I have the unfortunate ability to file stuff far, far away from my conscious mind.  I think that is what happened when the well opened up for me…I slammed the door and locked it. 

Knowing it is there, last week  I told my own beloved that I was going to reach out to that “well” of grief, to see if being there could help it pass…but I can’t get to it.  It is like there is a wall. 
I still cry and feel sorrow and tremendous grief…I call it the elephant sitting on my chest.  I tear up at the darnedest things…but I can’t find that scary place I felt so briefly.

My beloved has told me that maybe that is the way it is supposed to be.  Don’t force the door open.  It will come soon enough. I guess it’s my stubborn streak.  I want it when “I” say, not at some unexpected moment where it takes my breath away.  My desire to control the situation.  And I guess that is what makes it so much harder.  Because no one can “control” grief. 

So I’ll “let” that particular door remain closed…for now.


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