A writer I adore, Black Hockey Jesus, once wrote that "we are all made out of shipwrecks". Man, that's an image. Have you ever seen a shipwreck on the shore? Car wrecks and train wrecks... they all get cleaned up, erased from public view. But a shipwreck stays, forever, molding and rotting and junking up the scenery. They are constant reminders of the pain and loss. I like that image because that's how I felt yesterday. It's how I feel about most of my pain. That I am navigating the shallow waters, eyeing the shipwrecks of my past, dodging the jagged rocks.
My post yesterday was shared by a few friends who took solace in my feeble attempts to make sense of the senseless. It's why I made the attempt... because words are my weapon, my shelter, my compass. If they gave comfort to no one but me, I'd still be glad I wrote them. And then this morning it was shared by a few relative strangers -- people who know me in only short spaces -- my 140 character friends, if you will. And their words gave me solace and comfort as well. For a while.
I went back to bed in the late morning, and I slept until mid-afternoon. This is my fall-back. I avoid the shipwrecks by never leaving the dock.
But I couldn't stay in bed forever. I had made a promise to see my little buddies, Elliott, Brooklyn, and Kellen, and deliver their ornaments.
As soon as I pulled up to Chris and Courtney's house, I saw Brooklyn and Ell out front with their dad. By the time I'd gotten out of the car, I could hear Ell's squeals of "Deana, Deana, come find meee!"
Just FYI, if you ever need to find a 3 and a half year old, just pull a Christmas gift bag out of your car. He'll find you instead.
We went inside, unwrapped gifts (because they need to be hung upon the tree), and then were back out to play. Elliott's new favorite game is Hide-and-Seek. This involves me counting, VERY slowly, to four while Ell hides. At the announcement of "four", he jumps from his hiding place and squeals in anticipation. Which makes Brooklyn giggle. Which makes everyone giggle.
I'm telling you, if we could harness the power of squeal giggles, we'd solve the energy crisis.
Then Ell wanted to take a walk to look at the Christmas lights. Not to be left behind, Brooklyn came toddling behind us, arms raised, eyelashes fluttering. So I picked her up, placed her on my hip, and asked Elliott if he was ready to go. He said "yes" and stuck out his hand. It's hard to be sad when someone so beautiful wants to hold your hand.
And so we walked, my tiny navigators and I, cruising the shallow waters together, making way for open sea.