PlazaJen: Passion Knit

That's the title of a great John Prine album, the man can write songs that are breezy and fun, and he can write songs of great pain, real downers, songs that were slightly dangerous to me in my younger years before I figured out I was actually depressed.
Today I feel like a bruise, not fresh and purple, but yellow-orange and dispersed, still sore to the touch. Last night in the grief group, I shared pictures of my dad, and talked about him briefly while struggling to keep the tears from obliterating my power of speech. I went first, because I wanted to just do it, and not wait for my turn. It wasn't easy for anyone to talk about their loved one - and I understand the importance of being able to do this, to keep them alive in a healthy way. But as I walked down the hallway towards the blazing asphalt and my car, my face screwed up and my shoulders shook as I lost, if only briefly, my battle with the sadness. I made sure I got some deep breaths & regained control before I got in my car.

I have a hard time allowing myself to remember anything about my dad right now, because at the same time the images comfort me, they pierce me, like a trumpet, the metallic sharpness cutting through with the reminder that he is gone, he is never coming back, we will never have new memories together, he isn't going to call, he isn't going to laugh with me, the credits have rolled and the movie has been played. I know that in time, these things will mellow, my memories will be easier to see and share again, I will not turn and avoid and pretend I do not have this bruise just to get through the day.