Monday, April 26, 2010

Day 2

Day 2 is no better than day one, at most times it is just an prolonged extension as if the past hours just all blended together to form one terrible reoccurring nightmare. You wake up on day 2 with no more enthusiasm than the night before. Your eyes are tired, and sore, and bloodshot, and you look miserable. You don't want to get out of bed, but you do, because you have to. On day 2 you go to work and teach 30 other children, you have tears in your eyes as you try to hide your pain from them. You don't look anyone in the eye, for fear they will see your broken heart. You make a phone call to a parent wondering if you will ever get the chance to be on the receiving end of that line.

Day 2 is full of sad looks, people know you are hurting but cannot figure out yet why, they don't count the days like you do. Their lives do not revolve around a 28 day cycle. They want to help, but can anyone say the right words? Would you hear the right words, if they were said? Your husband calls often on day 2, just to check on you. You get emails and sometimes flowers and you only wish that were all it took. This must be what the widow feels when grief stricken.

The best part of day 2 is that you know. You are 100% sure there is no hope for this cycle. You are at peace with that knowledge. You can move forward, you can drink wine, you can drink the whole bottle, and you do, you can smile if you dare. You can laugh. You can hold a conversation without breaking down. You can move on, you can start to regain hope.

All of your close friends, parents, siblings, prayer partners know. There is no one else to tell. Your sad story has been passed through the chains, and when you answer the phone who know who is on the other line, what they are going to say, because you have heard it at least five times and five times last month and five times before that. God has a plan, you will have a child, don't worry about the money, just relax. If I hear just relax one more time....

Day 2 your husband comes home with a plan for the weekend. We are going away, we are painting the laundry room, we are staying busy if it kills me, because I don't want you to cry anymore. You are starting the recovery process, the moving on process, the only 27 more days process.

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