Laserbright lightning clouds storm my brain and I create traps to capture those terrible energies.  I see tiny boxes that flash into existence and consume each twisting maelstrom.  One by one I stack those cubed prisons into rigid constructs.

They are the blocks and bricks of all my fears and I am using them to rebuild my soul.  I need things to stand on so I can see above the squalor and desolation of my current perspective.  The view is getting better, but it is an ugly Sprawl before me.

I had so many plans for me and Silas.  Those won’t ever happen, but someday, somehow those plans will be realized in another way, with other children.  For now they are held in stasis, frozen at the very moment where they should have been freed.  They are stepping stones across the River Styx.  They are every star in his constellation.

I climb those dense blocks in my daydreams as I drive down the highway, as I lay in bed nearly sleeping, as I stare at the unwatched television that flashes bright and loud.

Distraction!  Distraction!  The World itself, the everyday sweeping of floors, the coffee to be roasted and moved, the daily act of cooking, of deciding what to cook and what to buy in the store, the way we drive there avoiding others on the road and especially that we got off the couch to move anywhere at all, they are all actions and distractions that trick us down the path of healing.

We have learned to be most-of-the-time-okay and only-sometimes-awful.  We say Silas’ name to each other when we talk about him and now his name feels good somehow.

It is a good I have never known before. It is a good that is the first gurgling breath of fresh air after a full day of salty drowning.  It is the good of only being broken a little bit instead of dead.  We say his name to each other because we have that to share, to hold, at least for a moment, in our minds, from our lips.

We go about the world, following the distractions and the goodness that we can find, but we are different.  She and I as individuals have changed irrevocably.  In order to apprehend the Universe we now have to pass it through another layer of analysis.  Good has an asterisk, always.  I don’t answer “Great!” anymore.

I have learned a new calculus where the answer to every equation is null and I definitely do not like this perspective.  It was better the old way, before our souls were sliced open.

No matter.  No choice.  No options except for every next action.

I’m okay now in comparison to last week.  The past is treacherous territory, though, and I have hopes only for today.  And no matter how good I feel tomorrow, part of me will be just as sad as I was yesterday.

That’s the long answer to how I’m doing.  The short answer is fine.  I’m fine*.  But I don’t want to talk about that.  Let’s talk about how I’m going to be, someday, maybe, hopefully.

The thought of Silas-with-Lu-at-the-store surges through my mind.  I seize it swiftly and contain it, reducing it to something I can gaze upon dispassionately and then add to the stacks around me.  I grasp the rough, razored edges and then haul myself up.  I am wounded anew every time, but I can see better from here.

The climb is a brutal daily demand but it is better than being crushed and yet far worse than anything I ever expected.