Turns out destroying the apartment won’t bring Silas back.  Sure, it would get out some aggression, but I’d still end up pissed off because of the huge mess I would have to clean up.  I’ve thought it through and it’s just not worth it.  Even though a torn apart apartment would more accurately reflect my inner state, I’m going to allow our living space to remain habitable in an attempt to achieve that same cleanliness and order within me.

It is a choice, though.  Over and over again I have to choose to not smash things.  To not hurl chairs around.  To not put a beer bottle through the television from 10 feet away with a nice sidearm fling.  I choose to get up in the morning instead of staying in bed for days on end.

I choose to be polite to people who do not know my son just passed away, to not answer their innocuous questions truthfully, to not tell them I would love to have their problems instead of this pile of shit we’ve been handed.  I try to be understanding about the many trials that every individual encounters instead of assuming that my tragedy trumps all.  I choose to smile and hide the stark dread that lives in the muscle memory just below my skin.

What was automatic before has become a conscious effort.

This keyboard should be melting from the heat of my rage.  How everything I touch remains intact instead of combusting I do not fully understand.  The world is ashen and dusty, filled with unimportant detritus that distracts from the gaping Abyss that we skitter beside every day of our lives.  I choose to embrace those distractions so I am not blinded and destroyed by Oblivion itself.

I choose to accept love and support.  I choose to face the world directly and let it smash itself on the perfectly sharp edge of my soul.  The Universe has seared me and hammered me into this shape.  I am a weapon, now.

I am one dumb question and moment of impatience away from cutting conversations in half and wounding people with gentle and honest words about Silas.  I choose to keep my soul sheathed and protected because I can feel an urge, an urge so strong, to tell anyone who asks that friendly question exactly how I am doing and exactly how much I miss Silas and exactly how sad I feel all the time because I want them to know so that for a moment maybe they can understand just how good they have it.

Anyone that does not feel the way Lu and I do right now has a gift they do not even know they have. They don’t have to choose to be happy.  Happy just happens.  I used to be that way.  I am jealous of that past self.

But everyone has sadness in their lives.  Everyone experiences the loss of a loved one at some point and I have to remember that fact when I begin to feel the agitation and anger start to rise.  This tragedy is our personal horror but no one is free from death’s stillness.  I choose to look beyond our own terrible experience to remind myself that we are not alone.

And we aren’t alone, we know that, despite the deep, solitary ache we both feel.  Everyone that shares this burden with us gives us a gift of immeasurable value.  We do not take lightly the tears shed for Silas, the happiness discarded to experience our pain, the candles lit in his name.

Now, whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed in the midst of daily life when offhand words ignite the sadness in my soul, I choose to be silent or politely respond, but in my heart I say his name, and I tell him I love him and I always will.  I tell him I miss him miss him miss him so much I can barely see and then I remember I’m in the middle of a conversation and that if I want to appear normal, I have to pay attention to what is being said.  Sometimes I choose to listen and participate.  Sometimes I am lost.

Inside, I’m still whispering to Silas, and choosing to breathe instead of burst.