That kind of a day

I cleaned out the linen closet and determined that a speck on the middle finger of my left hand was a tiny scab and not a new mole in its formative years.

It's been that kind of a day. No motivation, no energy, no enthusiasm. Just rain, boring chores and the silence of the house pounding in my ears. I know it's a waste of electricity, but I often leave the television on downstairs just so there's noise somewhere in the house that isn't being generated by me or a yappy cat (who is back to her yappy, pre-surgery self).

Every once in a while the silence that threatened to deafen me after we came home from the hospital sneaks back into the house, uninvited.

I've talked about this with my friend S who lost her beautiful little son Ryan in August. We were chatting on the phone not long after he died and she told me she couldn't bear how quiet the house was or how horrible the sound of nothing was in her ears. And I knew just what she meant, because the silence in my house should have been regularly disturbed by the sounds of a baby cooing, laughing, crying - living - too. But both our houses remained still.

They were no quieter than they were before we delivered our sons, but they suddenly seemed tomb-like afterwards.

I've since learned that leaving a radio on upstairs and a TV on downstairs remedies that problem, but it's pretty horrific that it exists at all.

Anyway, the day droned on and on today in a blur of boredom and malaise.

I know I should be on my knees in prayer every day thanking God that I'm alive because I nearly died when Thomas was born, but it's so easy to forget that - and to forget to be grateful. Mostly because when I think about it all I can do is wonder why him and not me.

There's a big mind-fuck of a question for you.

And you know what? It's far, far too big for me to even consider pondering today. I got the linen closet cleaned out and that's about all my winter-blahed brain can process today.

Clean towels. Stacked sheets. More pillow cases than a small hotel (don't know how that happened). Two extra blankets and a ratty, cherished quilt that belonged to my Grandparents.

All neat. All organized.

That's it for today. Good night.