Dogwood Girl

Grief is hard. And all the firsts are hard.

You ruined Halloween forever. First Thanksgiving; Escape to the beach so it won’t seem real. First Christmas. Just fucking grit your teeth and get through it. Next year will be better. Except it’s not better, and your mom is still dead.

My own birthday, when the person who carried me for nine months didn’t call me first that morning for the first time in my life. I’m thankful that I spent my last birthday with you, in the hospital. First spring without you; You loved daffodils and called them jonquils. I planted daffs for you a week after you died, the same day Biden’s election was certified. My kids came out to tell me; it was a sunny November day. A wry smile from me, my face to the sun. It didn’t matter anymore that you called democrats baby killers or told me when Obama was elected that Tiller would end up in a burkha. The daffodils popped up in spring, and you weren’t there to see them. Dad’s first birthday without you. Your anniversary. Rollie’s eighteenth birthday and I couldn’t call you and tell you he was okay now, and your own birthday, our first without you.

And then October 1st. It was always sad for you, the month you lost Charlie, and the month you lost grandma. And the month fell on us, like a pall, with the first stray leaves falling alone. Tiller’s 16th is in two days. You will never ride in a car with her, just the two of you, like I did with Grandma when I drove her to the liquor store, wearing her green and white polka dot leisure suit and her silver sunglasses glinting in the sun. The last month of the first year. I keep replaying the last time we were all together, a Tuesday night, sitting on LeeLee’s couch, just you and me, and something deep in me knew, and I just had to get away, because something inside me was breaking.

I will never forgive or forget that I didn’t see you again until it was time to let you go. Ever. I know some people didn’t get the same comfort of sitting in wait and holding the hand and whispering the important things while the first person that greeted them in this world left it.

And each day seems like a tick on a clock counting down to when it’s been a year and it all becomes real.

Is this thing on?

I haven’t written anything since January. That may be the longest I’ve gone without writing here in 15 years. I guess things are just too heavy, too overwhelming. Too much. Too painful. And they aren’t just my story any more. I am really brimming with the need to write, and yet, I’m unable to cross some imaginary line, one that only exists in my own head. One that protects those I love. One that maybe doesn’t even exist for them, and yet, I continue to protect them from my thoughts that stray over those lines. One that protects people i love who aren’t even my people any more.

Today was one of those heavy divorce days. A milestone day. Painful, heavy, funny. The kind of day that reminds you that you are a ship unmoored. That it’s just you and the open water. That you are alone. That you are the only one on the rudder, on the sails, looking to the horizon.

It was one of those days that you are confronted with age, mortality, what it means to be alone, what it means to ask where will I be? In a week? In a year? At the end?

I could write so much more. But the truth is, I’m scared that once I start, it will pour out in a torrent of pain, guilt, shame, sadness, negativity, anger, pride, indignation, and questioning that will alienate everyone I love. And then again, deep down, I know that i need to find out what’s on the other side of all of those mountains.

I find more and more that music is the only thing that really helps me right now. Because I don’t have to pretend that it’s my mind exactly. They are my theme songs. My sad soundtracks.

Today was this, again. (Always.):

And this:

And always. Back to this.

I guess I’m working back to the words. They are there. I’m just scared to put them out there. I’m just scared. I’m scared to cross the imaginary line. To face what it means. To face what people would think it means.

Postscript: There was a rainbow. A double rainbow. I know what it means. I’m just not ready yet.