This young man, who has stolen my heart.
And this young man, who stole my heart a long time ago, and who is now starting his dreadlocks.
We went to the ceremony for the woman who died, yesterday, and I have moved a little farther on in the cycle. I realize that I wanted something or someone to blame, SURE that it must be somebody's fault, but it seems that everything happened so fast that even in a hospital it is unlikely that they would have been able to save her. Something just went terribly wrong.
You would have to smile and cry to see how strong and earnest her husband is, just full, FULL, of love for his little boy. He is planning to stick around for a while, so hopefully we will be able to spend time together. I'm trying to be respectful, at the same time as wanting to rush in and glom all over everything. Several women have offered their milk, but it is being discouraged because of health issues. Which is understandable. I know that the milk in milk banks in the U.S. undergoes strict testing, which we couldn't do here.
I am doing okay. There is a lot of sorrow in me, so many sad things have fallen like rain.
(My mother's brother passed away suddenly the other day, also, suddenly, at a young age.)
I realize that I'm still fighting the PPD. It's mild, just that thing where nothing sounds enjoyable in the slightest, and you are faking having fun a lot. You know. But we will walk right through this. There are tools that I've always used. Writing is one, and taking photos that tell a sweet story is another. Both of these have fallen to the wayside as I have become more and more busy, but Chinua and I are trying to see what we can do about that.
I have calmed and quieted my soul. Like a weaned child is my soul within me.
Uncle Matty made dinner tonight. Now he and Chinua are juggling fire. In the morning I have a date with a Russian woman to hang out with our kids. My bed calls me. Life is blessed, sweetly blessed.
(That was way more than two things.)