Newborn Grady Donal

I held my newborn grand nephew this afternoon. It was an amazing feeling. Looking at him, holding him created a bond that I couldn't have had without this physical touch. He is perfect. And his fingers are long, as are mine, his father's, and my father's. His fingers, his fingernails, his lips, ears, nose, whorl of his hair, even his hairline are all perfect. I am grateful that he is in the world, safely. The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, and he came 2 weeks early. He was only 5#1 oz. Tiny. But perfect.
Tanks God. (My mother's Hungarian accent created her own unique pronunciation of the English language. And my family continues her mispronunciation, purposely.)

I got home and dropped into what is becoming an all too familiar depression. It was triggered this afternoon while purchasing groceries. And buying the dried sweet ginger that Margaret loved. And nectarines. I learned to love both from her. And loved to buy them for her. Now just for me.

My friend Laura tells me that my grieving is now only 2 years old, not the 2.5 years I'd believed.
I was too busy moving, buying a new home, selling my old, selling and giving away the stuff of 2200 sq. feet to move into 900 sq. feet. Dealing with the nuts and bolts of ending one life and starting another.
But the ending, the loss, the suddenness of death clouds the ability to create the new.
Of course. As it should be.
One expects to grieve. One expects the clouds, the pain, the utter emptiness. But it has gone on now for so long, that I'm beginning to fear that it will permanently change my brain's chemistry. Sadness, grief, loss, emotional pain begets chemical changes which in turn beget more of the same. Vicious cycle. And I still haven't regained my taste for living. Even holding Grady Donal doesn't create a lasting desire, a lasting joy, a taste for life. I'm sorry to say this.

But I will not take my life. I will wait for the slow imperceptible shifts to occur.
I must wait for the Universe, my universe, to unfold as it is meant to.

And I do best when I'm occupied with chores, things to do, traveling, purposeful activities which take my mind away from the loss.
I heard a NPR interview with Elizabeth Edwards and one other cancer survivor this afternoon. They spoke of the "cloud of cancer" and the relief they feel when people or activities allow them to forget that this cloud is always there.
I could relate.

So I have filled my July, August, and September with a birthday party, with travel, with civic activity, to help lift the cloud. I have historically always been an optimist at heart; I have lived through deep emotional pain before. I will live through this; despite the loss of the two women who I have loved fiercely.

One other thought before I end this. I was thinking about the importance of touch, and the lack of it after Margaret's death. The familiarity of skin which almost feels like my own. Yet it isn't; but it soothes BOTH of us when I touch her. The magic of touch; the magic of getting while giving.
The deep comfort of skin and smell which belong to the other who is adored. I would love to have this again in my life.