Where’s the Funny?

I apologize for the last month of virtual silence but I at least wanted to share why I’ve been M.I.A.

I can’t write.

I want to write. I simply can’t.

It’s not from a lack of ideas, topics, or funny stories that I want to share. I have plenty of those. I’m simply finding it difficult to set aside recent events in a quest to entertain.

With all of the horiffic details of what happened to Macy, James IV, and Margaret being shared, how can I be expected to be my typical jovial self?

Part of me feels that if I act all happy-go-lucky and peppy then I am somehow dishonoring their memories. As though I’m acting flippant in the face of their tragedy.

I’ve missed two Monday Mingles, which are a blast to do, because I just can’t get my mouse to click “Record”. I have six blog posts that sit in queue because I just can’t get my mouse to click “Publish”.

While I fully realize that the only way to bring awareness to both Marci’s heartache and our Sweet Dreams Fund is to write posts so that people have a reason to come here, I can’t shake the thought that writing humor pieces would somehow be misconstrued that I’ve moved on. That I’ve coped. That I’ve put the events behind me.

I’m angry. I’m grieving. And I don’t feel it’s time yet for me to just pick up where I left off.

My feelings over the deaths of Macy, James IV, and Margaret have been suppressed for months because I felt I needed to be strong for Heather. I needed to be her rock. Her shoulder to cry on.

But you can only suppress such emotional heartache for so long. Soon it will catch up to you. And after hearing the testimony of the police officer and coroner who witnessed the aftermath of this monster’s rage, I can’t shake my anger or my anguish over what those children and what Heather’s aunt went through in their final moments.

I have no plans to reveal the details that numbed me to my core and brought Heather to her knees in a screaming and crying heap, but suffice it to say that it takes a piece away from you. It chips away at your faith and it provides an unwanted glimpse into the kind of evil that those without souls can unleash.

In due time, the tears will dry and the heartache will subside. In due time, the memories I can’t escape will fade from the forefront. And in due time, I’ll feel the gravitational pull of the keyboard.

But today isn’t that day.

I’ve tried to force it but my love of humor is trapped behind a lump in my throat and tempered by a broken heart. Perhaps my pause is unwarranted but I just don’t know how it will be perceived if I flaunted humor while my wife and her family are engulfed in sorrow right now.

Sentencing comes soon. Not soon enough, but it will come soon. And I suppose that will provide the closure I need.

That, and time.

I just wish I knew how much.