Flat busted and tired! Some of it is emotional; but primarily I am aware that I have overspent myself physically. We moved some of Morgan’s apartment furnishings to Alex in New York City this week. A 14 foot truck and Manhattan rush hour is pretty scary; then if you make it there you have to unload and carry at all up numerous stairs – a challenge to be sure. It was worth all the effort though; because settling our remaining child comfortable and safely in his environment was balm for the soul.
Soon though, somehow we have to ratchet down the pace we are keeping; it just isn’t sustainable much longer. All three of us are running full tilt; like dogs with a string of tin cans attached to their tail. The cacophony scaring us to run ever faster. We approach the end of our reserves so it’s about time to slow down and reconsider. We need to figure out why we must run so fast? In fear? Of what? The worst has already happened. Morgan has been murdered. Why run now?
Are we fueling this frantic pace; doing it to ourselves because it distracts us from the painful void in our lives from Morgan’s death? Is it better to run to exhaustion than turn and face the full brunt of sadness? This method of self-distraction will bring self-destruction if we don’t rein it in. We need some quiet and stillness to reflect on our profound loss and the sorrow we feel.
I relish the little reassuring signs that signal things will be ok, eventually. I had one as we left New York in that 14 foot truck: bumper to bumper cars into the Lincoln tunnel, horns blaring, confusing lights and traffic patterns, and cops banging on the side of the truck. I glanced up at the back of the semi ahead of us and saw the logo “MORGAN” right in front of our windshield. It was going to be ok. Morgan will lead us through the Lincoln tunnel. I sat back in the seat, stopped clutching the armrest and let out my breath; thankful to realize that even in this hole underground, despite my fear, despite all appearances, we were being let into the sunlight.
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