Day 132

Later this evening Dawn and I will be attending our first meeting of  The Compassionate Friends (TCF). Although this will be our second group counseling session, tonight will be different. 

For starters, we are going to a location that is new to us. This meeting is at a community center in Lawrenceville rather than at our counselor's office in Gainesville. Andrea, our grief counselor, will not be there. The group we are meeting with tonight is not affiliated with Andrea's practice. As such everyone we meet tonight will be a stranger to us. The only thing that I know going into tonight's meeting is that we all have one horrible life experience in common. Our new tribe. 

One thing that makes me apprehensive about tonight is the possibility the meeting will be steeped in religion. According to TCF's charter this should not be the case, but I'll breath easier once I've sat through an entire meeting free of any prayers or scripture readings. Not my thing and it never will be. Moreover, if there is a god – I have my doubts but I'm leaving the door cracked open ever so slightly – I am not about to genuflect or ask for it's divine grace. To hell with that. It can explain to me why my son is gone. Until that happens, and I'm satisfied with the answer, I have no use for it...

I'm still struggling to get engaged with work. It hasn't been as bad as last week but I'm still not overly concerned with putting in a full day. I sometimes feel like I'm hiding behind Damian's death, using it like a shield to justify my antipathy. With each passing week, this feels more disingenuous. The simple truth is that I have little interest in working anymore. There are literally dozens of other things that I would rather be doing with my time, including mowing the grass, sorting screws and nails in my shop, and writing. 

When I was in high school and college, I enjoyed writing. More specifically, I enjoyed creative writing. I was especially fond of writing stories with a funny or satirical bent. I enjoy reading stuff that is funny – smart funny, not bathroom humor - and I find a lot of enjoyment in making people laugh. Since I'm not quick on feet comedically but am decent at writing, finding the funny on paper always seemed like a better outlet for me than, say, stand-up comedy. 

I'm committed to writing every day from now on. This blog may not last forever - my goal is to add one new post every day for a year - but I want to continue writing for as long as I can. That may mean a new blog,  some short stories, or maybe just a personal diary. I don't know what it will be exactly, but writing every day since being thrust into the After has been very good for me so I want to keep doing it. I think it's also been good for Dawn. She has been writing herself having started a private journal about the same time that I started this blog. But because mine is online and accessible by all, she has been able to read my daily posts. She has told me several times that it has helped her to see things from my perspective and has also validated her own feelings in knowing that we are often experiencing the same emotions as we continue on this journey of grief. 

Andrea is encouraging Dawn and I to publishing our writings. I'm intrigued by the idea and would like to see if we can make that happen. Not because I'm interested in the fame or notoriety that comes from being a published author, but because it may help get our message into the hands of more people, some of whom may benefit from reading about our experience. Either because they are going through something similar themselves or they know someone who is. In my time in the After, I've come to realize that tragedies can and will happen. And sometimes, they will happen to you, to me, to us. For no one is immune from tragedy, we just don't appreciate that fact until it bites us. So tonight we go to meet other people that share the same scar tissue. Some of it old and weathered, some fresh and bright red, the skin barely closed over the wound, and much, I expect, somewhere in between.