Prolouge to a blog

Where to start, where to start, how to start? Why start? I think that is the better question. So, why blog?

I am blogging simply for accountability. I have registered to run the Bayshore Marathon on Memorial Day weekend. Marathoning isn't a new endeavor for me, but it has been 4 years since I have attempted the distance. Four very hard and dark years. Four enlightening and sometimes joyous years. Four evolutionary years that are worth a little bit of acknowledgement, even if the only reader is me. This blog won't dwell on what has happened, but to fully go into my new era, I have to set the stage, and pay my respects to the recent past.

Late September, 2006.

There are moments in any life where reality shifts. The paradigm changes. A world is suddenly and dramatically different. Those moments that are outside the flow of life, love, marriage, babies; outside of divorce and death. That moment when time simply stops, and leaves you breathless and helpless. And when time begins again, everything has changed. That moment when your husband throws you to the tile floor with such force that you are blinded, and when you finally are able to see, your vision is distorted. Blurred. Starred. Your nose is bleeding from the head trauma. And worst of all, your baby girl has seen all of it. That is when the world shifts. When the light bulb implodes with that soft "pop" and life is now dark. Hideously and impenetrably dark. In an instant you are without light, without vision and without hope. Fear leaves a taste like pennies in your mouth. And still you are alive, and perhaps that is the worst part of all.

Three days later, I took my first step towards a new existence. That first step is so hard, so frightening -- the light has gone out and the darkness is overwhelming. You know that no matter which direction you choose, you will be walking barefoot over broken glass. Heels onto shards of light. All you can do is gather your children to you, carry those you can, and walk in front of the ones you cannot carry. You walk forward, because there is no choice anymore. Yet you know that the worst hasn't happened, that the abyss is still to come, although you can't see it. You know that you and your children will fall without warning and without knowing where you will land. And fall you do. And the hell of it is, you don't land at the very bottom. You land on a ledge, and from that time on part of moving forward is keeping everyone from sliding further away. So that is where I start this blog. From a ledge at the bottom of a very, very dark place.