Thursday, August 12, 2010

One of Those Days

I don’t know if it was the lingering heavy sorrow over yesterday’s memorial for our friend Neil, or the prospect of tomorrow, the three-month anniversary of Hudson’s death, or nothing in particular (which is likely), but it has been one of those days.

We spent most of the day in the car on the way home from Charlotte. I drove the whole way so that Ed could try to get some work done (he drove the whole way down there on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning in return). I was in tears off and on most of the ride home, working hard to choke them down because it’s not very easy, or very safe, to drive when your eyes are tear-filled. I didn’t want to stop and get a good cry over with because I just wanted to get home.

So when I got home, I cried.  Hard. And then stopped. And then started again. And the second time, I couldn’t stop. For almost an hour. It was one of the hardest cries I’ve had since the hospital. There’ve been only a handful of this kind—stomach clenched into hard little knots, loud moaning not unlike what I remember from being in labor, snot and hot, salty tears streaming down my face, at times sobbing so hard that I feel like just can’t get a breath. World-collapsing cries.

And I just couldn’t stop.

Ed had gone to pick up dinner, and when he got back, he found me upstairs in my glider, utterly unable to get a hold of myself. So he nudged me over, sat down in the glider with me, tucked me up under his arm, and just rocked me, back and forth, as if I were a baby myself. Until finally, the sobs came less frequently, less forcefully, until they finally faded into sniffs and silent tears, until they finally stopped. I truly do not know what I would do without that man.

It was just one of those days. And I just have to let them come and do their thing, and try to live through them.


  1. Mandy and Ed,

    Again I don't have the words to describe what I want to say, but I want to say that I am thinking of you both always. I hope at the end of your long, hard cry that you were able to have one moment where you felt "better" - the kind of better you feel after such a release.

    With Love,
    Alex K

  2. I'm so sorry. I wish I had something more to offer or better to say. I'm thinking of you and I hope tomorrow is a better day.


  3. i can't believe your husband. he seems absolutely amazing. and he lost his child too. the world needs more men like him. i think hudson needs a little brother.

  4. Ed is truly a gem. That you have each other to go through this living nightmare is, I suppose, One Good Thing.

  5. Hang in there for each other, Ed and Mandy. You are the best and it's still hard to believe, three months later, that something so awful could happen to people so good. I just wish it were not so, and I miss seeing your joy. I hope you can somehow persevere.

  6. Ed so rocks, and he keeps raising the bar for the rest of us. You also rock, in that few people are strong enough to admit to these kind of feelings, much less share them with all of us. Just know that, when these days come, Ed is not the only one holding you. We all are, whether we are there in person or not.

  7. Ditto what Philip H. said. We love the three of you always...Renee

  8. We love you guys. I spent a good long while thinking about you in the middle of the night last night--certain people aren't sleeping through the night even though they are 13 months old--just trying to process everything that has happened to you all. I check your blog everyday. I want to hug you every day. I often feel out of my depth when I try to articulate a comment in return. But reading this post I was thinking maybe you just needed another voice in the chorus of love, support, and the firm belief that you are, in every moment of this horrible process, doing something amazing.