But its not my kind of scene

iTunes knows what's going on. I turn it on and the first thing to come on is Powderfinger's "My Kind of Scene", as in "its not my kind of scene".
Cos its not. Not this.

I think I had an epiphany tonight.
Everything is coming back.

Maybe its the fact that its 11.46pm and I have too much work to be going to bed anytime soon, maybe its the rain, maybe its the fact that I haven't seen my family for 317 days, maybe its everything thats happened in those 317 days that has tested us all on an atomic level, maybe its the fact that in 16 days I will be confronted with a truth that is eight months and seven days old for everyone who was there but which for me will be all too new because while in my head I know its true, that he is actually gone in the gone-and-not-coming-back kind of gone, I haven't seen their faces, the faces of those little angels who unbeknownst to them taught me to be a better person, the children who I love more than the sun and the moon and the stars, and when I see those faces and I see him in those faces then and only then will it be real.

I can't go posting things on here before I tell people in person, my people here, the ones here who matter and who have been my family. And its not like I can tell people anything, because nothing is decided yet.

But sometimes allowing oneself the option to decide evokes a sense of relief sufficient to generate real tears. Never underestimate the sheer effort it takes on a daily basis to be a stranger in a strange land.