A Tilted Planet

I am in a renewed season of mourning. Kind of like renewing a lease. Only worse. Now that you know, I don't have to explain why more than a third of the month is gone and this little blog has been too quiet. I guess know it's because April 20, 2009 was the date we had our level 2 ultrasound and my world shifted on it's axis. (My true north was no longer near the pole anymore, but maybe more like somewhere in Canada.) And the anniversary of that date draws near. The memories are still nothing but painful, although now more of a dull ache instead of a raw piercing.

I have the best of intentions when it comes to making new blog posts. I get inspired. I take pictures, trying to find the best light. But when I imagine myself trying to sound giddy happy pleased about, oh, I don't know, a new recipe let's say, it just seems hollow. Because the grief has settled in again, following me wherever I go. 

Don't mistake me, there are moments of sweetness. I have been happy (at times) about Spring. I have felt swollen amazement when I look up at a crystal clear sky full of stars (no more winter cloud cover)! I have felt tickled at using my grill on warm Spring evenings and thinking about new and tasty grilled foods and side dishes. I have been totally inspired by my discovery of Foodzie (where have you been all my life?), which is like etsy, only for tasty, hand-crafted, natural artisan foods. I have enjoyed digging in my plots of earth  and planting little seeds. Tatiana and I were over-the-moon to get a box full of school books for next year. I even took pictures! 

But last year's memories linger, like a broken tooth that your tongue just can't seem to leave alone. Especially on days like Friday, when instead of my mail lady bringing books to my door, it was a slightly confused trucker with a small granite headstone on his dolly. 

Apparently, this delivery trucker usually takes his loads to the cemetery, not to a little white house with a homemaker nervously waiting at the front door.

"Do you get this kind of delivery here often?" he asked, slightly puzzled.

"No, sir..... Hopefully it's the only one I'll ever need."

And even that one has been almost more than I could bear.

P.S. Keyboard Soup. (Mom, you know what I mean.)

Clinging,