. . . and tomorrow it will be March. As in, spring might be near. As in, time marches on. As in, February has come and gone and here we still are and we made it through. As in, only ten more months of this abomination we are calling 2010.
The memorial went as well as I could have hoped--so many friends there in body and/or spirit. I made it through without totally losing my mind, and I think we gave our little girl a good introduction and farewell to the world. At one point I had to get a major grip---the marquee in my brain read: "The Funeral For My Daughter." This was, in that moment, a funeral. I nearly freaked. I admit, I was on the lunatic fringe for a moment or two--and then it passed. Thankfully.
I definitely will not say this brings closure. I don't know that there ever will be "closure," nor do I think I want this to be a closed case. The memorial was one more "thing" to get through. One more event on the calendar, one more chance to face the music. It was, well, good. It was the least we could do for our little baby. Time marches slowly, benignly on.
Someday I'll share the story I wrote for Calla. Maybe here, maybe there. Maybe I'll keep it as my little secret. I hardly remember reading it aloud to our gathered friends and family, but I know that I did. And although my personal beliefs do not include a white-puffy-clouded heaven, I hope that somewhere, somehow, Calla heard my story, heard our voices, knows . . .
Man, this is HARD. And if I stop to think about it for too long . . . well, let's just say there are some dark places I can get to. As sad as this weekend was, I think there was a spot or two of--well, if not happiness, then maybe peacefulness. And little dab or two of an "it's-going-to-be-ok" from the universe.
I can't really ask for much more these days.