shards...

I've heard it said that there are five stages to grief. I don't know what they all are, but I know anger is one of them.... I don't believe I'm quite there yet, but I feel it building. Churning, swelling. Like a bubbling black ooze that I'm struggling to swallow down, to hold at bay. Just one impulsive image continually comes to mind in which all that undirected misguided confused emotion could be unleashed. Running, arms extended open wide, through an antique store, screaming. The fragile pieces and collectibles - vases, tea cups, crystal, china - stacked and cluttered against the walls, on tables, along the floor. As I run through, it all inevitably falls crashing to the ground in a euphoric symphony of catastrophic destruction. To hear something else experience the overwhelming incapacitation of being broken.

I keep moving forward. My life is continuing on and happiness charges in like a white night when I think about all the good things I have and will have and have had. It's a constant battle...