Writing this blog has been, by far, the healthiest way I have coped with Jason's death. The earliest posts are things I find difficult to read at times, yet I am strangely and fiercely proud of them. I'm still not certain it conveys a completely accurate look into my life, because I am usually writing when overwhelmed by emotion, when the words almost bubble over and I can't type fast enough. But it isn't sugarcoated. It isn't dressed up or down. It's a chronicle.
It's been 946 days since Jason died. 2 years, 7 months and 4 days. Yesterday and an Eternity. Sometimes contemplating the mere passage of that time is enough to bring on panic, time is something I have never been easy with. On better days it feels merely perplexing... how is it possible that he has missed so much? And shouldn't we get a little break now? Shouldn't we get a five minute phone call, a check in at least? It's absurd still, to think that I will never talk to him again. It is still unfathomable.
There is so much I want to write, yet I don't. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't pollute this space with anything but my pain, but that pain is the same thing that keeps me away from writing more, on the days I feel hope and determination to carve out space of my own in a new life I didn't want and didn't ask for, but am living nonetheless. And that is the crux of it. I won't accede to that old cliche: time heals all wounds, I still want to punch people that say that to me. But time has given me the breathing room to look around, take stock, and decide that I need to make some happiness happen.