The best way out is always through.
- Robert Frost
Grief has hit like a sledgehammer these last few days, leaving deep gouges in the collective memory of our battalion. A lifetime of anguish, bravery, loss and regret were compressed into a handful of days. I haven’t been able to chronicle the events in anything more then a cursory fashion because at some point my emotions slipped away, blanketed by a insensate numbness. Like a patient that has just been pumped full of too much novocain my psyche feels detached - as if that feeling, sensing part of my being has been somehow blunted.
In many ways it feels like some armored bulwark has slammed down to mute the inchoate rush of emotion. I know that this slipshod form of mental triage will eventually fade, so I don’t feel the need to forcibly cast it off. To do so would be akin to scratching a scab off the puckered edges of a fresh wound.
I will not forget our honored dead, someday when I am safely ensconced in the familiar I will grieve properly, in a way that is fitting for so painful a loss. But for now I’ll accept the stilted range of emotions I’ve been left with and focus on the missions at hand. To do anything less would be courting disaster.