I had a great big cry for Thomas this morning, which is something I haven't done in a while. It always amazes me that my loud, angry, weeping grief is still so easy to access.
Admittedly, sometimes it shocks me a little too.
It makes me feel like the only thing between the composed, healing, functioning me and the open wound of my sorrow is a thin layer of gauze.
I don't feel like I'm walking the razor's edge. I don't feel especially weak. I don't feel fragile. But the truth is, that deep pool of sadness is still right under the surface just waiting for me to peel back the film and find it again. The rawest, most primal agony.
And then my heart screams for my son.
When it's finished, I lay the gauze back down, dry my tears and carry on.
I suppose that's the anatomy of a sorrow that can't possibly ever end; an infinite black pit with a gossamer cover.