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Going on is not a betrayal...

I put on makeup for the first time today since the funeral.

The cats are hungry, A is playing his flute. I am reminded of of the last few lines of a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay entitled Lament:

Life must go on
And the dead be forgotten;
Life must go on
Though good men die.
Anne, eat your breakfast;
Dan, take your medicine.
Life must go on;
I forget just why.

Of course, I know my dead will not be forgotten by me. I remember when a teacher I admired died, and months later I would still wish for her back and wonder what she would think of something. How much more will it be like that with my own son?

I have finally found something good to come out of the clinical depression I have lived with all these years. It has taught me how to go through my life while in great pain. I am using many of the techniques I use with depression now. However, the blessed thing is that this grief is not the same. My depression has always been a poisoned pain, including paranoia, anger, whispers of disgust, self-doubt. This is much purer--no real anger as yet. Pure sadness, cleaner somehow. I hope it stays this way.


Jun. 17th, 2004 08:37 am (UTC)
Don't have any words except that I am here with you, listening.
Jun. 17th, 2004 02:17 pm (UTC)
Thanks. I have found that the most comfort can be derived by someone listening.