I'm sorry I didn't say "happy new year" to you.
What is so happy about starting another year without you? Not much, not much at all.
Today, or, rather, yesterday now, was 2 years (two years!) since you had your first surgery, removing that gawd awful lump off your chest.
But you know what?
I'd take that lump back, if it meant having you too.
I'm sorry I bugged you about that lump and made you go see the doctor about it. I'm sorry that I talked you into having it removed.
If I hadn't, maybe you'd still be here today. Certainly you would not have had to live the last months of your life in pain as you did, with 3 surgeries and radiation. Sure, maybe you still would've lost use of your legs and all but you wouldn't have endured as much as you did. Perhaps the cancer would not have gotten so angry and spread throughout your body.
I don't think I can forgive myself for being so vain and telling you that you should get rid of it it's an eyesore.
Thing is, you weren't. I wanted to see you, not this ugly lump on your chest. It was a distraction and I'm a weakling. I am one to talk, being the way I am. But it wasn't until you said it was starting to hurt that I felt the need to pressure you even more about removing it. How was I to know? The doctor said it was a fatty deposit.
But I digress...
This year I told myself I will be more positive in my grief. Meaning I will try and find a positive spin. Well, perhaps that is a strong way of putting it. I guess... what I am trying to say is... less whiny. I think I can be sad and yet articulate myself in a way that doesn't come off as a cry baby.
But when it comes to my bears, baby and her papa, I find it so hard to get past the smokescreen of grief.
I read blogs and articles written by my fellow bereaved, but yet they write in ways that are so beautiful and intelligent and I feel like this lowly deafie who barely knows how to speak. (Now before you criticize me for saying that, I *am* deaf, so I'm only judging myself) But any intelligence I may have goes flying out the window when I speak in my moments of grief. I need to learn to write only in my calm moments, or to at least not publish without editing.
But in doing that ,will I be true to how I really feel, how grief really is? I have been told by some of my readers that my honesty is refreshing, but you know, many of those people are mourners as well. And while I do not want people to think I am depressed and suicidal, I also don't want them to think that everything is A.OK with me either. Perhaps there is some middle ground, some way of making both sides of the fence called grief be aware and yet be truthful in all manners. I'm not one to sugarcoat.
I'm sure I have a whole lot more to say tonight but I'm finding myself nodding off, so I shall end this post now, while I can still form whole words.
Happy New Year, Bear and babybear. ♥