These leaves, this fog, my tears — you do not see them.
The soft push of air out my nose, a cardinal chipping at the morning, the crunch of gravel when I get up and walk back into another day without you— you do not hear.
You do not see. You do not hear.
Cars passing, sports commentary, “Can I have another cup of coffee?” — these sounds belong to the land of the living where you no longer dwell.
You no longer dwell. You are no longer.
Yesterday marked three months.
My phone taunted me.
My heart broke (again).
“We can’t hide from grief. Grief is always in control!” I found this comment this morning ,on Liz’s blog, her sidebar lists a blog from Harriet Vogel, a bereavement coordinator.
I’ve sat with this for a while and I think about the numbers on a calendar. For you Dee, it is the # 16, for me, it is the # 24.. It has not yet been a month for me but I can feel tears pooling behind my eyeballs, in readiness for a deluge on June 24th. I really don’t like to think of grief as always being in control but it is too early for me to consider that this is not true. What I think about a lot is that our grief takes on many levels and over time, eases itself into something that is manageable albeit always present. I want to feel, even today, that it is perfectly ok for me to break out in one of my silly spontaneous dances, to sprinkle joy in my day and not feel that this is disrespectful to the grief that I wear…yes I am cloaked in grief, at this time, but it is not the only thing I wear, it is not the only descriptor of me.
You make a good point about how joy and grief coexist.
Also it is so so early for you. Even with the years of preparing for Rich’s exit, it is early.
I am heartbroken, too, for you. But always I am astonished at the beautiful and varied ways you honor Danny with your words.
Thank you Ellen. I thought I’d turned comments off but I’m glad I didn’t.
I wrote it on my calendar: Danny suicide.
I didn’t want to forget the date knowing it would be forever in the minds of his mother and father and no doubt his brother, his uncles, his cousins, his aunts, his friends, his acquaintances and those with whom he had lost touch but heard about it and were shocked. And more. Even saying this feels voyeuristic and yet who Dee do you have to mourn with? No one is mourning as you are not even Ken which is not to say he is mourning less but I’m guessing differently. Hard to say what is the deepest, the most frequent, the hardest, the most constant but I know for sure those states are yours and more. I want to say may it all lessen but that’s not true to what is. Just know I think often of what you must be experiencing.
Doris those who walk with me in grief are shining stars in this new firmament I live under. I thank you for that.
I wanted to know about the trees I should Not have in my yeard- I bet myself I have them ‘all
now I’m crying…
Hi Jude