Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

I've avoided this post like the plague--because it feels wrong. Because even though the world never stopped, my world stalled that Monday afternoon I lost my son, and I can't seem to push play again. I stumbled out of my house on May 10th one woman, and re-entered June 9th an entirely different individual. In the time line of my existence I died with Shiloh and like a phoenix arose from the ashes of that dark hour quite a new creature. Comparatively, no better than anyone else-except myself. I loathe the moments when I see glimpses of that former self emerge and superstitiously skirt about old patterns and habits that might unearth her further.

It makes me laugh how I used to lie on bed rest wishing my life would go back to normal. Normal--what is that? If it is the life I was living before Shiloh I want none of it. I was shallow and rather dull. The Summer of Shiloh was figuratively one hard, swift kick to my behind and I am grateful for it. A little disappointed in myself for needing it, but I've learned my lesson. . .I hope.

So forgive me. Forgive me for lacking the ambition to chronicle the last month of our lives, full of boogers(hand delivered to me every time my child picks one--gross), bike rides, and business trips. (pics to follow) Let me finish with this and then we'll get on to the delightfully ordinary events of the past month--they were right. All of those people who told me a day wouldn't pass without thinking about Shiloh they were right. I do. Every single day for the rest of my life. And that is not a burden--it is a blessing. We hurt because we love--and life really isn't worth living without love.

At the playground in Des Moines where we met up with friends from our old ward--we miss you!

Colt loves his 'miss-o-nare-ees'

Working on something while Dad works on the bike