Orange Power

I made it through dinner, through the Walkaround, but not through the drive home. All evening I kept seeing guys in Wranglers, orange starched shirts, and cowboy hats. The AGR's had "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys" playing. It was just too much. I'm glad I went, but I was ready to leave. Too many memories flooding back at me on the drive home to ignore. It has been four weeks--that doesn't seem possible to me. I relived the first week in my mind tonight. Truthfully I can't remember very much. From some of the things I have read, that is a common phenomenon. It seems that God has made us so that severe tragedy and the pain that goes with it sometimes puts us in an anesthesized state. The anesthesia has worn off.
Something that Janna and I have always done when dealing with grief is look for a sadder story. When Phyllis died, we would remind ourselves that Darla (Monty's wife) was only two when her mother died. She has no memories of her mother, and Janna and I have vivid memories of Phyllis that make us smile and sometimes laugh.
I guess I'm too selfish in this situation. I can't even look for the sadder story this time; I know they are out there, but I'm so self-absorbed that I can only focus on how it feels to lose my child.
My friend Kay sent me an advent calendar because she knew I was concerned about getting through Christmas. The title of the calendar is "Holding on to Hope." I'm not going to wait for advent to read it; I'm going to begin tonight and read it through twice before Christmas. I have to find something to hold on to.