Thursday, November 11, 2010

Naptime

The grief has been quiet lately...kind of like a napping child that I know will wake up with a scream, cranky and needy, so I try to get things done now while she rests- this grief.

It's harder to express all of the complex thoughts and feelings that go on inside a person who has lost their spouse and best friend - you feel the full range of sorrow, anger, regret, disbelief and shock, denial, and hope.  I am up very late these past couple of weeks trying to process it...playing it over and over in my mind, hoping I might be able to connect the two lives I hold now- in two very separate hands- as if looking from hand to hand.  While the grief is quiet, a part of me feels safe again- I see your things - your shirt hanging over your chair, your socks in your sock drawer, and your cello in the corner- and I feel almost comforted.  You always love the personal items of the one you love.  They represent that person, and seeing them makes me believe you are still in my life.  I'm not sure how long I'll leave everything as it is, but for now it good to keep you here this way.  At some point, it may be too painful.

Words are failing me here lately...at least words in complete sentences.

water the cello
in the corner
run the water
squeeze it out
once a week

file the papers
make the calls
smile sadly at your photo
on the wall

put the food in
my mouth
chew
drink the water
at my bedside
pull the quilt
over my head
shut the light
close my eyes

wash the soap
out of my hair
pull the floss
through my teeth
see your reflection
flossing next
to me.


water the cello
in the corner
run the water
squeeze it out
once a week.

watch the sun
come and go
wait 
to tell you
what i know



listen to
bus breaks
on the street.
sounded like relief
in an old life
i put
under the ground.
dreadful dejavu
something old
repeated
hidden
sacred and
lost.


water the cello
in the corner
run the water
squeeze it out
squeeze it out
dry it off
dry it off
close the case

close the case.




2 comments:

  1. Very moving...such a quiet desperation this thing called grief brings us.

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  2. I am so very sorry for the pain that you feel. I cannot fathom what you are going through. Reading your words gives me an insight into your life. Nothing anyone can say will take the immense pain away, but I pray that your wounds will eventually heal to the point where you can find happiness. Nothing but love to you and your precious Audrey.

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