Weary Bones
Joy and sorrow together can make you feel uneven, disoriented. The last few days have been full of beauty and full of pain. The juxtaposition of joy and sorrow can feel like a perpetual tilt-a-whirl. For a little while you enjoy the ride and then you can’t decide which way is up and which way is down. I’m there now. This week my Knox described a PTSD flashback with surprising clarity in his own language at nearly eight. “It repeats,” he said. Through tears he explained, “I want to make it stop and I can’t. For some reason it’s always the same.” I was thankful for his description, affirmed him in his anxious grieving, and utterly covered in grief that my curly-haired jokester wears so much anguish. It’s humbling to hear my child describe those sorts of things. The images, the sounds are all strongly tied to quaking emotions. To watch him describe them would humble just about anyone. The depth of his anguish is a direct reflection of the depth of his love, no doubt. Tonight Calvin ran