Month: July 2020
Protected: Hubbell and Her
Anniversary
It’s been one month. The time has flown but in my heart, it feels like it’s been 5 years. What does it feel like there?
I get turned around, don’t know what day it is a lot. I can’t do math or count very well, though I have no idea what that has to do with missing you.
Talking to mom on the phone and even as we are talking about your passing, she said: “Maman’s here!” I jumped. Totally expected to hear your voice. Gut punch.
Mostly I look forward. Life is a gift, I know. I remember the Lauren Hutton interview where she quotes King Lear while talking about reminiscing. “Not that way, never that way. That way madness lies.” That way madness lies. So much truth in that line.
One month down. All of them to go. I love you. Je t’aime.
Protected: sane
Broken Heart, Aisle 3
I saw your friend today. The plump, good-natured one with big energy and a tiny white dog. Genevieve? No, that isn’t it. Marinette! I think that’s her name. I love her. You loved her. She likes to laugh, she is always so happy. I was happy to see her.
In the split-second it took me to recognize her, I stepped forward excitedly and started to say hello. Then something snagged in my chest- I don’t know how else to describe it – and I let out an unfamiliar noise, I’m not sure what it was. A sigh? A gasp? It was part pain and part surprise. I stood back and then very still, watching her look at watermelon. Maybe it was pineapple, I’m not sure. She didn’t see me. Thank goodness, she didn’t see me. I slunk into the breakfast foods aisle and cried.
My skin was covered in goosebumps, the bad kind. The hot kind. I could smell rubbing alcohol. (You know I do that when I get very frightened.) Staring at the Pop Tarts but not really looking at them, I slid my mask off my nose and backed up to a shelf to steady myself. I got my breathing under control and let the tears make their way down my cheeks. I tried to call someone but no one answered. It’s ok, I can do this myself. You always told me so.
Checked out, walked to the car, and drove home. I ate dinner by myself and watched a sad documentary about Princess Diana and calmed down a bit. I hate grief. It always takes me by surprise. Today it quite literally took my breath away. I miss you so much, and it’s confusing that you aren’t around.
Je t’aime, je t’aime. Bonne nuit, bonne soir, bonne rêves.
Loyal Traitor
You’re going to hate me for saying this…
Except you’ve never hated me for anything I’ve said to you,
And I’m not even sure you are capable of hate anymore.
Maybe I’ll hate myself for it.
There’s an unexpected freedom that has come with your passing.
Like when the last rope has been unstrung from the spike, and the circus tent becomes, even momentarily, a balloon, enthusiastically swaying in the wind and stretching itself to kiss the clouds before the rope is caught again.
Like a flower who has blossomed overnight, or a small child who in an instant, matures to adulthood.
More and more, in the in-between moments, I find myself feeling a mix of duty and happiness. I am ready to take my place.
It feels odd to say this out loud, though.
You mean no less to me today than you did yesterday. My love for you is perpetual, exponential, universal, eternal.
Today I had a revelation.
I am coming to see that the freedom and optimism in my heart is not treachery.
It’s an effigy.
Protected: Dear Diary
swf
It sounds silly to say that my art is not for consumption
Because art, as soon as it is created, is consumed.
That is the nature of the world.
But there are parts of me I don’t want to give away.
Or have pilfered from my unique amalgamation of experiences.
I cannot avoid creation, expression of a soul on fire,
But I disagree that the product is for all to see, to copy, to recreate
Get your own soul.
Get your own love, joy, pain, heart, mind, authenticity, passion, identity. Then use it. Mine are not yours for the taking. Mine are not for sale.
Grace
It’s funny to me how when you experience a loss
People give you a grace period
For a few days – maybe 3 or 4 – you can do whatever you feel.
Yell, scream, cry.
Call your friends at 3 a.m.
Eat. Don’t eat.
Go on long drives to nowhere.
Ask someone to drive you everywhere instead.
Sleep all day.
Wake up screaming at night.
Have a major fucking meltdown in a public place.
Binge eat, binge watch, binge grieve.
Just get it all in – or get it all out – in those few days.
After that, they stop asking if you’re ok. They stop excusing your surfacing raw emotions. They look the other way when you need help. It’s embarrassing, this thing you’re going through. Try not to make a scene.
I guess those few days are less for grace and more for training. Learn to tuck it inside. Learn to hide it. Camouflage your pain. Whatever you do, don’t talk about it or express it anymore. Act normal. Otherwise you might make people uncomfortable.
There also seems to be a bit of doubt about whether grief beyond the grace period is authentic. Like if you’re still talking about this a week later, you’re just being a drama queen. *eye roll*
It’s been less than 3 weeks. I still cry but not in front of people. That isn’t polite. It still hurts but I don’t tell anyone. I am smiling and getting dressed and moving on because I have to, because they want me to.
There’s a gaping hole in my sternum and it burns at the edges and I have learned how to cover it but not well. With my hands, my art, my happy social media posts.
I hope centuries from now in the utopian future humans aren’t shamed for love, for feeling. I hope there is no grace period there.
Middle Naming Me
I was drawn to another book today
(Am I addicted, or what?)
The title was intriguing, so I looked.
Turns out, it’s a fiction that dives into grief and loss and ghosts and all the things surrounding this weird time.
I started to skim the synopsis (didn’t want to know too much) and when I saw the name, I gasped.
Your middle name. Uncommon. Unknown in America, really. It means huntress. To reap, to gather, harvester. I wonder if that’s why the author chose it.
No coincidences. I bought it.
Thank you for winking at me when I need it.
I’m making French bread today and the radio is on. Je t’aime, je t’aime. xox
Attitude Soup 