Under Construction

Sometimes, late at night, I dissect myself. Not on purpose. Not with intention. Just a sleepless wondering that becomes a science class of myself. I'm well put together on the outside, but inside I'm under construction. My brain is a jumble of thoughts and worries mapped out by sleepless nights and pieced together with memories of a life that is gone.

My heart is a bruised contraption that still somehow has the ability to beat and feel and love. As one of my new favorite songs professes:

I'm bleeding in my heart
When nothing is for certain

I picture my heart as a tender onion, layer upon layer upon layer...the first several layers are ripped and shredded and bruised beyond recognition, but the inner layers leading to the core are strong and resilient, waiting to be seen.

My legs are the force. They move me forward day after day. They propel me as I run. They keep me standing.

My eyes bear the brunt of everything. They cry. And cry. And cry some more. Even on the days I hardly cry at all...I still cry. When I went to the eye doctor recently for contacts and an exam, I told him if my eyes were more sensitive or appeared different, it was because they were used to being rubbed with tissues on a daily basis.

My hands are the legend to the map that is me. Look at them and know what I want to feel and exude. My fingernails used to be black... for weeks... after Rick died. I couldn't bring myself to let natural sheen or color into my world. My hands showed the world what was in my heart: my mourning. And eventually, the blackness lifted and my fingernails told the story of fresh perspective. The black was gone. My hands are the legend to the map that is me. The tips of my fingers tell my story on this blog. Click clack, click clack, click clack, I type at the speed of light... no other agenda but to grieve outwardly and be a voice in the darkness. My fingertips say what my mouth wants to whisper and scream. My fingertips say what my heart longs to put into words. My fingertips make sense of the jumble in my brain. My left hand is home to my wedding ring and my engagement ring. These rings are bittersweet. It hurts to have them stay, but hurts more if I were to take them off. They remain and my hands remain the legend to the map that is me.

I'm under construction. But I'm fairly certain that the framework is sturdy and the final design will have a lasting impression.