Infill

I write blog posts in my head.

Long, beautiful, heartfelt.

Forgotten by the time I get to the keyboard. (along with my awesomely witty FB status updates)

Life is full. There's even a big black hole in the center of my being that is full of dark, churning matter, matter which is often left to its own devices. A hole which seems to be covered over, maybe with a flimsy layer of moss or maybe some attractive greenery.

I don't know if I don't take the time for this hole anymore, this abyss of loss, this grief that doesn't feel like the grief I knew and understood. But my patience is thin and my temper as treacherous as quicksand these days.

Life has changed so much in this last year. Moving from where Serenity was has changed my reality. The triggers are not here; the people who 'knew' her, knew us then, are not here. It's a big disconnect.

Here, we are that perfect, happy couple with the charming little daughter, the ones that people wonder when we will add to our little family.

Moving was stressful, on the emotional end, on the practical end. (Owning a house where you no longer live is also lots of fun) It took me somewhere I was not yet ready to go and took me from somewhere I was not yet ready to leave.

Home is where my family is, and we have our little family here, Serenity too, here and there and not. The ashes are on a hutch, the essence is dispersed, the hole in me is empty and full.

I want that hole to be full, but with light, with positivity, with love, with compassion, with empathy. Hell, it could even spew rainbows.

But I am just not there. I am not enlightened, I am not good at being my better self. I am a complaining pessimist who gets easily stressed out.

Something is missing in my life. I search for what it is, thinking it is due to moving, leaving friends and a city I enjoyed. I join a community, searching for free thinkers. I search Amazon, thinking it is a book to read or a new toy for Beanie, or maybe a new kitchen gadget. I search Meetup, thinking it is new mama friends. I search for a babysitter, because toddlerhood is just too much. I search Etsy just because I am an addict (thank god I have avoided Pinterest). I try a new diet. A new park. A new dress. I dance around a verdant circle...

and realize that the soft, mossy patch is just a facade, a thin overlay to a deep abyss. Where I can not hope to be whole.