What impropriety or limit can there be in our grief for a man so beloved?
~Horace, Carmina

A friend recently asked me if I wished my blog was anonymous, and I admitted that sometimes I did. I would like to facelessly/namelessly be able to share my deepest feelings without fear of judgement. I would like to be able to say I am still grieving without being accused of selfish motives (apparently if I say I'm sad, it's just so people will comfort me). Unfortunately, through some lessons learned both here and in real life, I have come to understand that there will always be people who judge us, and hiding behind masks doesn't make it any easier to bear.

I am still sad. Despite what others might think, it's not depression. I know depression, have experienced it quite deeply, and still deal with it. This goes deeper than depression, and it's completely different. It is grief, and it is profound. I've gotten really, really good at fooling people. I can do what they want . . .act happy, don't mention my boys (it might upset someone!), and pretend that everything is going great. But the thing that scares me is that I've gotten so good at it, I almost fool myself sometimes. Looking through my picture folders on my computer last night, I realized it had been months since I'd looked at Brian and Sawyer's photos. I went through them, and immediately the tears began to flow. What hurt the most was my sudden realization that I'd been trying so hard to convince everyone else I was okay I had neglected to spend time with my sons.

So tonight, this is what you get. My ramblings and my music. I updated my song list because when you can't speak grief, music can do it for you.

Grief. The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal.

~C.S. Lewis