An emotional shock is like a fist in the face. It causes the mind to reel away from it and reverberates though out the body. I've been doing well with the shock of what has happened- in the daytime. It is not until night when I am drifting off that I am shocked awake by an image exploding in my mind's eye based on something I have either read or been told about the incident. All hope of sleep disappears for at least an hour. A vivid imagination can be a curse sometimes.
This morning I read about yesterday's funeral in the newspaper. It sounded wonderful the way a "good" funeral can be, a mixture of tears and laughter, and a church overflowing with people sharing their respect and love for the ones who are now gone. When I reached this sentence in the newspaper, An enlarged, black-and-white photograph rested on the altar at the front of the church. It was a picture of (them) on their wedding day, holding hands and laughing, smiling bright-eyed in the camera, the achingly bittersweet image in conjured up causes something inside me to crumble. I started sobbing, longer and harder than I did when I first heard the news.
I am grateful for that.
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