The Second Year

If I were to describe my first year without Robb in just a few words, I would choose these:

Shocked.
Terrified.
Blind.
Numb.

I was in shock of many kinds, emotional and physical.   I spent months not believing that this was really real.  I spent nights writhing in panic and disbelief, the freezing sweat of remembering.

I was terrified.  For more reasons than I can name.

I was blind, walking forward without a map, never ready for the next blow.  And there was always, without fail, another blow.

I was numb because that’s what the body does when one must survive.  It stops feeling.

Those are big, bold words.

With those major players on 2011’s roster, there wasn’t room for sadness.  She needs a space all her own.

Now that I am one month into this second year, I can see that it is different.

I am no longer shocked; these facts have become my life.
I am no longer terrified; I am actually unspeakably brave.
I am no longer blind; I have lived through one full calendar year, and even if I don’t like what’s coming next, at least I know I’ll surpass it.
I am no longer numb; I’m starting to feel.

Frostbite doesn’t hurt when fingers are frozen.  It’s when those nerve endings start to warm up – that’s when frostbite cuts like a knife.

I’m starting to feel.
I’m starting to cry again.  I hadn’t in a long while.
But these are different tears,
warm and healing.

Perhaps the first year was for my head;
perhaps this second year is for my heart.