Compression, Depression, and Expression

My blogging frequency - not to mention its substance - has been unusually low of late. I haven't been much up to putting my thoughts and feelings into writing - blog or otherwise. I've been seriously thinking about hanging it up, or else just continuing to stick to the "easy" stuff - politics, anecdotes, movies, comic books.

Debbie and I are having an especially rough time lately dealing with our grief. We look back and can't believe that it's been almost a year since we lost Aaron. This entire past eleven months seem to have flown by, as if time itself somehow got compressed on us. I wake up each morning with a strong sensation that Aaron's death just happened days ago, and that a whole year was just pulled out of our lives.

Part of the reason for this feeling, of course, is that we are coming up again on the time of year when our private horror occurred. That harsh, twisted Spring, a season that our bereft family will now always associate not with renewal and new life, but with loss and death. All Jewish holidays and other special dates since then have been difficult for us, as seems to be universal with bereaved families. But Pesach will be infinitely worse. It was the last holiday that we had Aaron with us. And it was over Pesach that we first started taking notice of his soon-to-be-fatal illness.

We also have three separate Aaron-related events coming shortly after Pesach. The unveiling of his matzevah [headstone] is planned for Sunday, April 30. His yahrzeit is that next Shabbos, May 6. And as previously announced here, the event launching the Chai Lifeline charity in Aaron's name will be the following day, Sunday May 7. Just too many painful reminders all happening one after another.

[There are even a couple of milestones occurring tomorrow - but I'll deal with those in due time.]

Write?? It's a miracle I can crawl out of bed in the morning.

And yet... I'm not quite ready to let myself give up on the heavier, emotional blogging. As grueling as it can be, as much as it takes out of me, it nearly always gives back immeasurably more. At the very least, it's an outlet to vent, a welcome distraction. But sometimes, unexpectedly, it provides an extraordinary solace. Through blogging, I have found new friends, reconnected with old ones. When I share my deepest sorrows and anguish, my constant feeling of isolation diminishes. I feel heard, understood, supported.

And God help me, I will need all the support I can get to survive the next five weeks.

Thanks for everything.