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Cindy Maddera

I've thought about this entry off and on for a long time. Do I post something so open and honest when I know who reads this blog? Every anniversary I sit down and write this post and end up erasing it. August 1st, 2005 was a day that reset all the calendars and clocks. Has it only been three years? Some times that horrible day and following weeks flood into my brain like a tidal wave and I feel myself gasping and reaching for something to scrape the images from my brain. Other times it feels like it all happened a life time ago. So, after three years, are we better? I think some of us have survived better then others. It's kind of like taking a group of people and cutting off one arm from each and then waiting around to see who adapts and who gives up. That's the best way to explain my family. Some of us have let go of the grief. Some of us have let our grief fester into a disease. We all deal with it in our own way. It's not neat, but in fact very messy and ugly at times, but we do what we got to do to get by.

I think it took me three years to get over the numbness in order to grieve. I find myself thinking a lot about J and about stupid things we did as kids. I cry more now then before. Little things set me off like the opening scene in Ironman or ironing an old shirt of Chris's that I thought was clean and finding a handful of cough-drop wrappers in the front pocket. I had eaten those things like candy during the funeral. It still makes me angry when someone tells me "thank you for your sacrifice" or "He died for our freedom". The last one is the worst. I want to punch the person in the face it makes me so angry. If they're stupid enough to say it, then they're too stupid to get why it makes me angry. So I smile politely and say thank you and move on. And I guess I can look back on these last three years as a lesson in moving on.