It ain't heavy, it's just insomnia.

I feel like I'm all 'Hello, I'm Atlas. Just ignore this huge, terrible, pressing, more than you are able to bear, astounding burden. Really, it's nothing.' You know the kind, right? The people who are constantly sharing and over-sharing problems and their depressing inner thoughts?

Those people are annoying.

I can say that because I'm turning into one. It gives me street cred.


Truly, I'm not depressed. I have some pretty bright things on the horizon. It's simply difficult to remember that when you haven't slept in a couple of days. Especially if you haven't slept in a couple of days and you come across a blog about a mother who has 'lost' her baby. And then I just cry and cry. But sometimes that helps me sleep.

I think the thing about your first major brush with unexpected grief is that the scarring is so much deeper and profound than you expected. I find myself sometimes running my fingers over the bumps of my grief wondering how it healed and wondering why it still hurts.

I feel odd equating my first major grief to Alycia when both my Grandfathers and my Great-Grandfather Burns, who I loved dearly, passed on before her. But in those instances I was not nearly so involved in the process and it was natural, expected that they would pass on well before I did. As a 'child' you're shielded (rightly so, I think) from being so blatantly present. There was none of that with Aly. And it's not like I hurt every day. I embrace my memories of her life, our time together and such. I just find myself seeing grief sometimes in a totally new light, in a way that makes my bones ache in empathy. All I can do then I finger my scar, cry in solidarity and selfish relief and know that sometime I'll sleep again and then I'll be able to joke about balls.