swallow the sea

It’s been two months since Ma died.  Two months of the world moving at its usual pace.  The squirrels out back are still leaping and dancing in the trees.  The neighbor’s cat, still paying confrontational visits to my dog.

Life is like that.

Numb to pain.  Detached.

In the midst of loss, I made a discovery.

This death.  This absence of her.  Only matters to me this way.

I’ve ended friendships.  Lost respect for family members.  I’ve bitterly moved on.  The complete opposite of the way she’d want me to be now.  Without her.

But I am so angry.  How could you not see?  How can you not know the level of love I had for her.  The violent and complete sense of something missing.  Of a world that will never see her face, smiling.  Hear her words of constant wisdom and relief.

How can they not know?

My own life has been moving at the pace of a dangerous current.  Shifting and whirling.  Caring not if I have the strength to keep up.  The churning has been relentless.

But there are moments of stillness.  Sitting out back, watching squirrels through vacant eyes.  And I lose myself in her.  I smell her.  I almost see her face.  Etched out in clouds.  Her smile.  Right there.

God, missing her is like torture.  And I crave a dream.  A thought.  A sweet, subtle reminder.

I want her here so bad.  Just one more time.  To tell her that she was everything!

But that’s not how this death thing goes.

You float.  And you have small reminders of who you were.  Before.  And you’re forced to dress.  To smile at strangers.  To live!

When all you really want.  All I really want.  Is to be with her again.

The world is moving on.  It’s been a while since she’s danced here.  And all I want to do is stop crying.  And all I want to do is never stop crying.

Afraid to be happy.  Afraid to move on.  Afraid that one day I’ll wake up.

And she won’t be my very first thought.

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September 14, 2018

I am so sorry