The thing that bothers me the most about my grief is that it's all about me.
What I want to do is an update on Eva. The update I would do in an alternate, happier, reality.
How things are progressing, how we're all adjusting to living in the city or something, to be closer to medical care, how Eva is managing after surgery, how much we enjoy staying at RMH when were in Edmonton, how her birthday party was, how we went to galaxyland with all the kids...etc...
I don't give a crap how *my* grief is. My f-ing grief never ends. Sure, it's lighter, easier to bear...etc...etc.. But it's always there. Just there. And what I want is Eva. Plain and Simple.
I still find myself surprised sometimes that this is my life.
So full, and yet so empty.
So good, and yet so bereft.
I could go on and on...
And, I'm tired of writing about *my* grief, *my* anger. I'm tired of writing and I know people are tired of reading. Everything I want to write, I've written before. The regurgitated feelings of grief and sadness and despair and hope. You've heard them all before. They're still there. Lighter, yes. But still the same on so many levels. And who wants to read the same thing all over again, and again...
Who even reads anyway? Who even cares...If I don't?
oh, and then there are the people I wish didn't read. The ones I can't stop unless I make the blog private, which I don't feel like doing...although it is a consideration.