I'm Awake...

I had to put my regular blog entries on snooze for a while. Obviously I've written entries, but I was in a middle of a "contraction" so they weren't exactly the most pleasant entries to read.

I realize that people don't want to read depressing sh*t.

Even I don't want to go back to read my last entry and I wrote it! I've been in an emotional funk ever since Ethan's birthday, but I'm slowly starting to snap out of it. I know I promised to post pictures of Niki's party, but I don't have the patience to upload right now.

Next post, I promise.

It has been two years since Ethan passed and I know I've said this before, but I think it's time for me to make a conscious effort to stop being so damn dark all the time. I've forgotten who I was before grief entered my life and I hate it.

Even my writing style changed.

I went back to read some of my older MySpace posts (pre-grief) and....dude, what the hell happened to me?! I used to be kinda fun. And happy.

I'm slowly trying to be the "old me" again. I realize that I simply cannot live the rest of my life this way. I know it won't do the cubs any good either. Don't get me wrong, I don't go around sulking all the time. I am fully capable of laughing and smiling however, I'm not genuinely happy.

I'm heartbroken -- my life was shattered when he died.

All I can do is pick up the pieces and somehow figure out how to make them fit back together again. I'm slowly, but surely trying to find myself. It would be even more tragic if I allowed sorrow to conquer my life. God forbid that I turn into a real life Ying Ying St. Clair from the Joy Luck Club. My cubs (especially my little lioness) are supposed to get their spirit from me.

If I am strong, they will be strong.

I learned that reality the day Ethan was buried. The cubs did not realize that his funeral was "sad" until I finally lost my composure right before they closed the casket. They cried when they saw me cry. If I don't find myself soon, I'll never get over this emotional bleed. I can't go on being weak or they will be weak.

Lions are strong and even though I'm not a "lion" by blood, dammit...I'm strong too!

So, in a desperate attempt to regain some of the "old me" back, John and I went to the shooting range on Monday. Shooting is one of the few things we have in common and we used to go all the time until....well, you know. So, I dusted off my ear & eye protection and off to Jackson Arms we went.

This will probably sound like an ad from the NRA, but I felt so utterly free when I held that gun.

There was nothing like shooting a few rounds into some paper to help me feel like I had power over my life again. John has a Smith & Wesson .45 (his old duty gun), but it is way too big for my hands. I was a bit rusty, but I felt so much better afterward. The range offers rentals --I shot with the S&W and a rented Glock .40 that day-- but I'm going to buy my own handgun in the very near future so I can stay motivated with my rekindled hobby. Even though it seems utterly silly to say that firing a gun "changed me", it really did change me.

At this point in my grieving process, I'm open to whatever works.

The Glock
John's S&W
Me: Slowly making a comeback...