It has been six months and I am still putting pieces back together. I have started by finding corner pieces – FGL, kids, mission, work. Slowly finding the edges. Some days are easier than others. I’ve sang in the car and not cried. I’ve crumpled to the floor in a shaking mass of anxiety. I’ve scraped my knuckles on rock bottom again but each day I keep waking up.
So there’s something.
The roller coaster I thought I had managed to disembark years ago has unexpectedly picked me up again. As I involuntarily lose my shit while I process the gaping hole in my life, I have begun to learn how to “go” with this “flow.” At least as well as one possibly can while careening through life at 150 mph without a seatbelt, or even a heartfelt desire to not fly into oblivion.
I loved her immensely and that never waned – how can I believe them when they tell me my grief will? Yet I follow the steps. Accept the things I cannot change. Build a new sense of reality though none of this seems real.
She’s always there in the dark, just as I close my eyes to sleep. She kisses me good night and wipes my tears when she’s gone in the morning. If I don’t open my eyes, it might be true.
here’s a short piece I wrote about what happens when I open my eyes. the sun always rises on a new mourning.
embedded in the silver lining
of each day spent seeking lost faith:
your memory, the ache in this
newly-found canyon of myself.
the burning star I hope
to think you became
shines something fierce
in the morning sunrise; blue
meets glorious gold.
the street corners scream your name
like applause. My gratitude
for the city you left me
holds these fidgeting feet,
clenches this fist
around this heart.
have a good night. thank you for reading.