Earlier this week, I took Zuzu to the park after school.
Coco and I had a good day at home--we'd done our usual running errands and picking up after a busy weekend. The weather was beautiful--sunny and the perfect warm/cool of fall, so we stopped at a little park we pass everyday on the way to Zuzu's school.
Coco napped in her stroller and Zuzu climbed and slid and swung in the swings. I felt happy, the way I almost always do when I'm watching her enjoy herself at the park. I felt lucky, to have my health, to be at the park eeking the very last moments out of a sunny day, to have two healthy little girls with me, looking forward to going to home to see David and have dinner and talk about his day.
And just a few minutes later, I felt it in the pit of my stomach and the back of my throat: grief. In spite of the good day and the sweet girls, I felt really sad.
The warm day was fading. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the houses west of the park, and I shivered in the breeze. The streetlights came on and the glow wasn't comforting. It was just a reminder of how fast the daylight disappears now.
We had a long and bright and warm October, but the seasons are changing. Have changed.
I told David last night that maybe I have Seasonal Affective Disorder and I need one of those lights that make you feel like you've gotten exposed to sunlight in order to help you from feeling depressed.
Or maybe it's my grief season and--in addition to all the happy--I'm just sad. The kind of sadness that can't be cured by all the sunshine in the world, but that feels especially potent when it's dark and cold outside.
It's dark so early now. And, yeah, it's turning cold.
And tomorrow it's one month exactly from the four-year-anniversary of the day my first daughter died and was born.
Four long years, and the blink of an eye.
I've missed almost four years of her. And that makes me... sad. And angry, and tired, and mostly just sad.
Grief is a wolf, and no matter how much I like chunky sweaters and tall boots and hot tea and vegetarian chili, the cold and the dark bring the wolf knocking at my door.