the bathroom smells like gerbils

and no one knows what this means
no one but erin

how do i get through moments like these when i'm bulldozed
***memories, light the corners of my mind***
the way we were
in this case a SMELL for crying out loud
a weird smell
sounds ridiculous to anyone else

haven't thought about those words in nine months
since November 2009
and then BAM there it was
out shopping - doing fine
bodyslammed
a one-two punch
U of C
rad-onc


i can't explain it
it would take too many words and no one would get it
the effort to reenact the scene would be lost
i don't WANT to explain it
it was a THING between the two of us
between erin and me
good lord we used to laugh about it
you probably would say it is stupid

ha ha stupid

yes there are other things that only the two of us shared
lots of them
everyday everywhere
why did this one get to me

i couldn't sleep last night because I was so incredibly sad because I couldn't tell erin the bathroom smells like gerbils
silly?
maybe
YOU try it on and see how it feels


so early dark
tick tock
forget trying to sleep
LOVE coffee in the morning
HATE fosamax fridays
it's quiet
HELLOOOO
thats what nach used to say...
lazy dog hes so sweet
googling images of GERBILS
WOW
LOVE google
i actually used to have one because my parents wouldn't let me have a dog
dont think i liked it much herman
just wanted a dog

mean parents
need more coffee

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I typed the above words last week, REALLY early in the morning, with the advantage of Internet images at my fingertips. Perhaps I should have hit "delete", but oh well, here you have it. (Do you know how many inappropriate images of gerbils I did decide to remove? eeeew!)

Moments like that are difficult to explain ~ overwhelming sadness, emptiness hitting with unexpected force, randomness. The sheer element of surprise just leaves no room for preparation. Rather than gutting it out, which I do really well when necessary, I chose to just leave the mall and drive home. (Last time when I was in the dentist chair for a 2-hour appointment, I was shot full of novocain with 12 instruments hanging out of my mouth, and this played over their sound system CLICK HERE. Talk about gutting it out!) I expect it will be like this for a long, long time... perhaps forever to a certain degree... at this point I don't know. I worked myself into a Bermuda Triangle of emotions when I got to the safety of home, because a strong punch like this has the potential to magnify all that is bothering me at the time, causing the intersection of WRONG and PAINFUL and JUST PLAIN CRAZY SAD. It felt good to let it out.

I chose to wallow for a good part of the day that I wrote the words above because, as I said before, and shared with you HERE, sometimes it's best to just go with it and make the puddle bigger. Sit in it. FEEL the sadness. Grief hurts, physically too. While wallowing I decided to go through some letters people sent me after Erin died, just to open the floodgates wider, and that was a successful maneuver ~ my personal addition to the ongoing deluge into Chicago's Deep Tunnel.

I found the quote below in one of the cards. I now realize that I didn't really read the words carefully at the time I received the letter because it's dated January 9, 2010 - so just three weeks after Erin passed away. I'm sure I was only PHYSICALLY present for much of that time, my mind numb, my body on some bizarre automatic-piloted directive that propelled me through those weeks, as reality slowly settled into my heart. I know I felt relief for her ~ SUCH relief for her with respect to her wish for peace. But then, after the completion of tasks, the planning and the wake and the funeral, the business of true grieving was allowed to begin ~ a new job for which my resume lists "no previous experience" with regard to the death of a child. Parents, yes. Much different category.

I think I also saw this quote recently on another blog, but I don't know exactly where, since sometimes I get lost down the Internet maze while searching for others like myself ~ the community of grievers out there in Webland. It sometimes feels good to curl up on the couch with these people when there is no one here. They all understand.

And now that I'm out of the wallowing puddle, I can say I know that special place well. That space, so vacuous when Erin died, is gradually filling with the memories of her. I find I'm weaving a new lifeline, with an intricate combination of fibers intertwining the words and events that are unique to our relationship, and it's providing a stabilizing connection from the past to the present. Its exclusivity is its strength.

Back in April, I addressed something similar in THIS POST where I talked about the pronounced presence of Erin everywhere ~ about smelling her in the chlorine of pools and in the stink of volleyball kneepads. Last week I was slapped in the bathroom at Yorktown. Today, it was Tegaderm (tape that she used to secure the tubes of her port under her clothing when she went to school) found when I cleaned a cabinet. She continues to be everywhere, and that's gut-wrenchingly GOOD, comforting, if that makes any sense at all. That is what is filling the gap and weaving the rope to which I cling. Yes, it hurts.

I'll carry this privilege for the rest of my days ~ "a glimpse of what you wear like skin" someone recently wrote to me ~ Perfect.


So Erin, that bathroom smelled like gerbils!
I just added another fiber to the rope.
I understand.