watch me own it

I’ve started to own this grief

I’m not going to let it kick me off field any longer;

I’ll bring it up on first dates, share it like

small bites of chocolate with my roommates on the couch,

drown in it as if it were a giant glass of red wine;

I’ll scream it out of me and into pillows and

bring the subject with me to dinners and various bars

across town, neatly tucked in my clutch

like my favorite lipstick.

I’m going to own this grief publicly

and you’re going to watch me

so that the next time they ask me how I’m handling things

I can look them in the eye and say

I’m handling it just fine, thanks.

 

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enigma

I know what loss and grief and sorrow feel like but I can’t imagine what it’s like to realize you’re dying. Is it a long, drawn out realization, or does it take your entire body and world over in one split second? Do you feel afraid for the unknown, or is it more like relief? Does your life play out in parts, your memories connected by flashing neurons strung together like pieces of clothing hanging on a clothesline? Do you think of love? Do you hope for the warm hands that touched you last? Do you pray, even if you don’t believe in God? Do you say whatever words you have left in that last breath out loud? And if you only have a second of life to spare, how long does that second really seem to last?

What is it like to know you’ve reached the end and might never again get another beginning?

Questions without answers and answers that don’t make sense once asked.

If life is such an enigma, can you imagine death?

 

IPA

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”

I finally understand that saying now, how life can break you just to remake you- stronger, wiser, aware of the beauty in my own breath and the importance of love.

And still.

The last 365 days without you to share my accomplishments and failures with have been the hardest. I have no regrets of things left unsaid like so many others because my words always belonged to you. And the ones I kept locked away you read in my eyes. But what do I do with my words now?

I wish you were still here so I could tell you how much you changed my life, how your love gave me strength, how I finally learned to see myself with your eyes. But the only thing left to do now is remember, celebrate the years of life you had by drinking your favorite IPA. And it all still doesn’t make any sense. You were once a lover but forever my best friend. You challenged me to be better but loved me at my worst, and among all of the things I still don’t understand are your unwavering faith in me and neverending love. You were my soulmate and I was yours, no matter what, we decided. You made me angry, you disappointed me at times, and you were awful with directions and going to bed instead of falling asleep on the couch. And yet. The mornings when you brought me coffee in bed and danced with me on top of your feet in the kitchen and hid from the world underneath piles of blankets in our own grown-up fort and held me close to your heart the first time I let you see me cry and told me it would all be alright… THAT’S what I remember when I think of you now.

I remember you and I remember love.

But I still hate the fact that all I can do is remember. All I can do now is sit here, drinking your favorite beer and writing honest words you’ll never read.

365 days later and I still feel everything.

 

after all

You would’ve liked the woman you saw if you had seen me last night- my skin sun kissed, hips swaying back and forth to the rhythm I learned in the only home I’ve known, to the songs I used to spend hours dancing to alone on the patio on days when the sun shone too hot and there was no one around to talk to.

You would’ve liked the way my mouth molded over the notes, my tongue dancing, vocal chords ringing, my spine standing strong and upright. You would’ve appreciated my small efforts at comedy and human connection sent to the crowd over the twisted microphone wires and afterwards I’m certain you would’ve declared that I had been born for the stage.

You were, after all, my biggest fan.

You would’ve sat right in the first row but you would’ve stood up to dance, even if your feet never did quite learn all the right steps to take.

That’s what you had me for, after all.

You would’ve liked what I have done with this life I realized I took for granted when you died.

Why have I wasted so much time?

I have learned to ask myself the hard questions even if I don’t have answers to so many of them.

Yet.

What I do know is that it isn’t enough to just breathe and pay the bills and kiss new lips every now and then. Not anymore.

You would be proud of the woman I’ve become.

If you could only see me now.

 

 

 

in case you were wondering

What I wish they’d told me about losing someone you love is that you’ll never be the same again. You’ll finally understand the illusion of time- how some days feel as though they’ll never end, and others like a brand new beginning. Many a sad memory will come to pay you a visit. You’ll suddenly remember the first kiss again. And then, the last. For a few months you’ll act unlike yourself just so you can feel alive again. You won’t be able to stand that dull, numb sensation taking over the space where your heart used to be. You learn death doesn’t just take your loved one away and leaves after that. No. Death hangs around. It stays. It becomes a part of who you are now. For better or for worse. Some days it makes you passionate about things you never even noticed before, like the white trail clouds leave behind. And others, it makes you never want to see a blue sky again. It’s messy and disorienting and heartbreakingly painful. At first. And then, always. It doesn’t get any better with time like they say. You just learn to live with it. To befriend it and let it in. And then it never leaves. You let it take over so the past can die and stay behind. And that’s how you learn to live again. That is the time of your rebirth. Your heart and soul will grow so big that one day you stop being who you were and you become love. so let the tears come. let them wash away the pain.

(this is how you grow)

shedding

I have cried on the wooden floor

beside my dresser

my hands caressing the imperfect object with love

I have cried on the sofa,

head buried in pillows as my mouth

gasped for air

and silence

I have cried on my bed

and on pages scribbled in black ink

my tears distorting my words

turning them into strange shapes-

this one, a boot

and that other one, a star

I have cried at my work desk, right in front

of the computer

and on the massage table so many times

now I’ve lost count

I have cried while riding my bike-

I can’t help it

this mountain town used to be yours alone

but now it’s become mine.

 

Only mine.

 

I have cried on runs around the lake, while

chopping vegetables, and a handful of times

on first dates

I have cried in the public bus,

most often behind dark sunglasses but

in front of strangers who’ll never

know my name-

which to me seems strange.

we have shared so many of my tears

together.

I have cried as I stood held in long embraces

by those who I can sense feel bad

for not having the right words to say-

they still haven’t learned that

there are none.

I have cried as my face seemed to freeze

distorted with pain

and as my voice escaped from me in the shape

of a scream

the only sound I can make when nothing

makes any sense

and not always, but sometimes

I try to muffle it so the neighbors don’t think I’m insane

I think that’s ok-

the screams are not like the tears.

I have cried over both

death and life

and all the words I can no longer write

without hearing his name

I have cried in planes and

in cities far, far away-

enough to know that my tears will always

tag right along with me

the saddest carry-on.

I have cried in the arms of my mother

a few times but last time

was on top of a carpet covered with crumbs

which gave me a kind of sad comfort-

to know I wasn’t the only thing broken

lying there.

I have cried until lashes fell out

enough of them for the entire world to make wishes with-

because the lashes

(it seems funny to say it now)

wanted nothing to do with my tears

and I can still remember the first time I cried

in front of him

my hands on my face and then, his

I hid in shame because back then

I didn’t yet understand

that tears

are just feelings I haven’t learned how

to write down

yet.

 

But I do know how to cry now.

 

and someday  I’ll learn to write the tears away

but even then I’ll know

it will only be because

I

have

cried.

 

 

182.5 to be exact

It’s been 182 days of words for breakfast

and tears as a bedtime snack

I’m still in this space where I can’t understand

just how it is that someone you love

can disappear into thin air

but leave a giant hole in your chest

 

It’s been 182 days.

 

I still miss him

and then,

I miss him again.

 

I never asked that much of life

but death,

couldn’t you please

give me my best friend

back?

A dirty word called grief

No one speaks of grief.

The world seems to always be

unprepared for the aftermath 

of death.

I wish someone would’ve warned me

listen, you’ll be shattered in places

you didn’t even know 

existed before

but the dead can’t speak and 

the living are clueless 

because they decided

that the worst of the dirty words

is the one called

grief.

The aftermath

Death changes everything when it takes your everything away.

You lose so much that you start to live life waiting for your time to come too, afraid of ever caring deeply again. You know, just in case. Because now you feel it in your bones the universal truth that nothing lasts forever. It’s no longer just an idea floating around in your head. It’s an ache, an open wound in the worst place. like on your fingertips. There’s no rest, no break from the fear of going through the worst one more time when you barely made it through before; when you’re barely making it through now; when you still cry and miss them and your head is still filled with endless regrets over the things you didn’t do or say; as if your actions would have made a difference in the end. You become irrational. And yet you’re more rational than you’ve ever been before.

Yea, death does that.

And when you try to start to touch again, to feel again, to love again, it’s right there; the ache throbbing, reminding you of the last time you felt that way and how it all disappeared in the end, like water that gets too hot and evaporates. It’s the most terrifying thing a human can experience: to give up control of your heart while knowing that it will eventually end in death and heartache. Always. Every single time.

But that’s the moment when you have to face your fears and let life and death figure it out between them. Because the funny thing about the aftermath of death is that only love can make you come alive again.

So when it knocks on your door, let love in. You deserve a break from all the sadness death forgot to take back with him.