Aftershock

I've always been the kind of person who can endure almost anything as long as it's time-limited, boundaried, and finite. Knowing in advance that an experience, however painful and dreadful, will have a definite, predictable end, has generally enabled me to steel myself, gather my strength and resilience, and persevere.

But then comes the morning after. There's got to be one, says the song. But the song doesn't tell you just how difficult that morning after can be.

I made it through Sunday's unveiling on pure intensity - of mind, body, and emotion. The past 48 hours have, ironically, been more difficult, more depressing, than the event itself. The unveiling was a focused channel for my grief and misery, and thus helped contain and even, to some degree, purify and uplift those feelings. I was surrounded by supportive family and friends, and bolstered by the realization that I was doing what must be done for my son. This Shabboses yahrzeit, Sunday's charity event, will be similar flash-points of concentrated feeling, acute activity, cathartic release.

But when this week is over... will I be able to return to dull reality again?

How can I face the rest of my life looming ahead of me, knowing that Aaron will never again be a part of it?

After closure, how do you move on?

I look inside for the answers, and find only more questions. Maybe the how of this tragic situation, like the why, can never have a satisfactory answer. Nor this post a satisfactory end. All I can do is, as the saying goes, keep on keeping on.