I wish Alfie was here to ask. But the reality is that no one can really answer that question except for me. Sure, I need to talk about it. Especially with Sharon, as we shared the experience. And we likely can help each other sort out at least some of the feelings. But everything speaks differently to the individual because we are...indivdual. A compilation of our life experiences.
So far I've been doing OK. I have spun out a few times, and have the incessant "instant replay" function firing up regularly, but surprisingly (for me), I've been able to pull those plugs pretty quickly. I guess this therapy stuff is working. But I also know that it hasn't fully hit me yet. In some sense I've been on an adrenaline high since Friday night. The big burst wore off Saturday morning, but the emotional adrenaline is still pumping away. And I know that can't last, and that I'm due for a pretty hard crash. But that's ok too, as at least I'm expecting it. Hopefully that will soften the blow a bit. Sharon, as always, has been an extraordinary help on all levels. I don't know how she does it...I'm in awe. Mabe the key is that she "does it." That is the key...showing up and doing it.
I've tried to stay away from sweeping deep generalizations and just get through all of the day to day stuff. Sharon and I have talked about some of the deeper meanings, but we're both still in shock on some levels. It will just take time. You don't come to grips with a near death experience (yes, that's exactly what it was) overnight. But you don't really engage anything in life overnight. Everything takes time. Everything is a process.
And lest I forget, today is Sharon and mine one year anniversary. Last year we met for dinner at an Indian restaurant. I talked alot (so she said). But evidently I must have struck some sort of chord. I know she did with me. We've been through a lot. A LOT. Even before Friday we've come together and blown apart multiple times. We've been profoundly sad and gloriously happy. We've thought things were hopeless, and seen possibilities where no one else would find them. In short, it has been a transcendental ride. Perhaps fitting that on the eve of our anniversary we take a rough slide down a slab of concrete. Hitting the ground hard. But hanging on to each other for the ride. And climbing off together, checking on each other, and making sure the other was safe. Then watching things go up in flames. Then walking together to help and safety. And being alone in separate rooms while getting fixed up. Then sharing a long ride home. At that point, home was the back of a cab. And it was fine, because there was a lot of love. Who knows where the next home will be? I certainly don't. But we'll keep on walking...
