This is one of the entries I hesitate to share. It’s not particularly…flattering. I am encouraged, however, by a few who claim they’d rather read what’s true. OK. (Ugh).
I could say I’ve never thought of myself as weak, and that wouldn’t be true because some situations turn me into pee-colored Jell-o™. I could say I’m a bit of a coward, one to shy away from conflict – and although that has been true at times, it is not always true; I’ve waded into some pretty terrible, dark places, to be with people I care about. I’m guessing most people would, in fact, describe me as “caring” and “strong” (especially since Mark’s death; I think the average person thinks the fact that bereaved parents can walk upright, ever, is phenomenal). I guess what I am saying is that – overall – I’ve thought myself to be reasonably sturdy and not given to dark extremes. So the fragility imparted by great grief has come as an unwelcome surprise, as has the rage.
Sarah loves the Marvel movie series (Captain America, Hulk, Iron Man, Thor, Hawkeye) and is determined to re-watch all of them prior to the release of the next Avengers movie this summer (when ALL the characters are together). So we’ve been doing that over the last several weeks (yay for snuggling on our too-small couch again). The other night, we were watching Iron Man 3, and it made me think.
