But I still have some very hard mornings where, somewhere in the dark before the sun comes 'round, I awake with a comet burning through my body. All things Corey are boiling inside me. I hear myself make dark utterances like: "I don't want to live in a world that would take my daughter."
Somewhere later, as the sun crosses overhead and slips toward midday, I recover. The tears stop. I saw yesterday how much effort I put forth in striving to keep my spiritual eye trained on my daughter's passing, to view it with an esoteric lens, because the plain truth of it is too much to bear. Now, amidst the backdrop of everyday life, the inner flames come raging, without warning, destroying my ability to distance from the pain. When this happens, it is impossible to stop the fire of injustice from taking me over.
I learned this week that I have to start constructing something new inside: I must build a retaining wall that keeps me from lurching forward at others when I am in so much pain. Because at those times, my sense of injustice at losing my daughter could too easily transfer to anyone who rises up in my mind at the wrong time.
So I know now that there will be some amount of simply waiting. Waiting for more healing to come. I know I will get through this. I just could not grasp until now how hard it would be.