Sunshine Therapy

So, were back. We spent a fantastic time away from home in sunny weather. A balm for the scorched soul was that sunshine. We went away where few knew us, and we basked in the anonymity.

Calla's memorial service was just, well, lovely, if I do say so myself. But it took a lot of emotional wherewithal to make it through the day. When Sunday rolled around, suddenly we were faced with packing and last-minute errands before our trip on Tuesday. A welcome distraction, indeed.

As the plane ascended and I gave a "peace out" to the B-lo, I felt--well not really BETTER, but a bit of relief. Of course I had the worry that the statistics would strike again: the plane would crash, our luggage would get lost, or some other such catastrophe. (Not that a plane crash and lost luggage are equally catastrophic, but you know where I'm going.) Amazingly, everything went according to plan. Luggage: check. Rental car: check. Rented baby gear: check, check, check and check.

Thanks to some generous, lovely friends, we enjoyed a week away in a borrowed condo in sunny weather. We ate dinner out every night and there wasn't a stinker restaurant in the bunch. We went to a children's museum, the aquarium, the zoo. E even fed a giraffe. We met up with my brother and sister-in-law, her brother and his girlfriend. We went to the windy, but still beautiful, beach.

We behaved like a normal family on a normal vacation.

Yet this vacation was anything but normal. In our planned-for life, we'd never have taken a trip at the beginning of (this) March. So, lemonade from these lemons, once again.

And here we are, back at home. Amazingly, it's not freezing. The sun is actually shining and we didn't have to wear our boots. The snow is melting. There's even little green buds on the bushes.

Is it too dramatic to say the weather is a metaphor for my mood and state of mind? Because somehow, it's less foggy, a little lighter. That sense of hopefulness I so desperately clung to is beginning to feel real. Acting like a normal person has somehow made it somewhat so.

There's still sadness, and darkness, and disappointment. Yet they are beginning to find their own places in my life, rather than ruling it. The sadness coexists with a sense of peace. As I ran through the sunshine on vacation, I smiled thinking of my daughter, dreamt up a relationship we might have moving forward. I will always miss her, will always want her, will always wish our lives could be what we'd planned. But that doesn't mean it's all or nothing. She will still be here, in my heart and mind, despite not being here in her body. It's up to me to figure out how to make this work.

It's amazing what a little sunshine can do for the soul.