The date on the calendar says January 7th. One month. How can it be only one month? I am thankful it can be measured in something more substantial than days or even weeks because it seems like a lifetime.
Does today feel significant? I suppose. I don’t know that it feels harder or easier. In so many ways it’s just a day. A day to walk through, to ride the waves through.
A basketball game. Yesterday we lived through Sam’s first game. We will need to eat. I have only ideas of what needs to be done and none of the energy required to make them happen.
This day still has the same 24 hours and some of them will seem long and some short. The normal is so infuriating and so craved, but it will be ever elusive. Normal. Such a strange thing.
The moving picture of our lives was stopped. All that are left are snapshots and they are both all we have and not enough. So we’ll look at some of them today, as we do most days because they are all we have.
And the hole will be noticed as Kaitlyn should have been playing basketball today and Scott should have been coaching and Zach should have been asking for candy from the concessions stand and filling my water bottle and hanging out with Daniel.
Instead Josh and I will watch while Sam takes the floor, though it is excruciating. And I’ll rejoice that we did one more hard thing and survived. And maybe we’ll find the energy to take an inventory of our food and make a grocery list and begin the process of moving furniture around to create new spaces in this new moving picture we now find ourselves in.
On this first 7th.