Four Years
There comes a time where grief learns its place. The all-consuming, the all-knowing and all-being of its newness has faded into something more compact. It's no longer the mountain it was. Or even the hill it had become. For a while it was a giant sack of emptiness carried on my back. And then about a year ago it shrank away even more and became a backpack. I felt its weight, but I had grown used to it. It was something that hurt every now and then and it certainly felt heavier at times, but I could carry it and still stand tall.
At some point, it shrank further to shoulder bag, then purse, then clutch. Still there, lurking around, waiting for me to open it, to poke around and see what was in there. At this tiny size, I could laugh and smile about a memory and not feel the need to crawl into bed immediately after. I wasn't pissed off all the time or scatter brained. I felt some semblance of joy and hope when I mentioned Patrick's name or told a story about him.
I can't say for certain, but I think this is what healing is. I think it will take a lifetime and then some to make sense out of losing him the way we did. But I think something called grace can be felt even while the pain is still there in little jolts and shocks. And the pain still is there, but the brass tacks and razor's edge have dulled over these years. That stomach-flipping of the first year has been gone for a long time. The panic-stricken reality smacking me around has gone off to bother another. There is only the occasional sadness now, usually brought on by myself. Its okay to bring it out, to feel it, to miss him, to want to rage for a while in the unfairness. I think the difference is that now, I'm more in charge of it.
I think the biggest change over this past year is that I can feel happy, hopeful, even damn ecstatic in a way I haven't in a long time. There is no guilt in it. There is no faded grey edges, curling over and reminding me that all is not well. All is well. All is very well indeed.
There once was a time when that seemed so completely impossible. I can drive by the cemetary and not try to make out his grave from the road. I no longer slow down to a near stop and point it out and wonder about him. I know when I drive by, I know he is there, I know I think of him every time. But the neck-craning, eye-straining stare is gone. I wish I could remember when that changed.
I used to stare at his photos on my wall and try to recall the sound of his voice. I was so scared I would forget that deep timbre, that loud laugh. I know now that I will never forget them. I look at his photos now and I remember when they were taken, I remember the day and what we were doing. I remember that we were happy, that he was happy.
I used to hear a song on the radio that would within seconds have me in tears. I sing along now and I remember his corny name for karaoke and I laugh. I laugh that P-Money existed, that he would do his damndest to sound gangster at the 4-10. I remember his silver chains swinging as he danced and his big ole grin he had on his face.
I revel in his past because I can't do so for his future. I choose to remember with happiness all that he brought to my life. All that we went through, all the mistakes we made, all the hurt we caused each other... I remember it all. But I choose to take the lessons and make it better now. I choose to remember and to do it with a smile. I choose now. Grief doesn't get to choose any more.
At some point, it shrank further to shoulder bag, then purse, then clutch. Still there, lurking around, waiting for me to open it, to poke around and see what was in there. At this tiny size, I could laugh and smile about a memory and not feel the need to crawl into bed immediately after. I wasn't pissed off all the time or scatter brained. I felt some semblance of joy and hope when I mentioned Patrick's name or told a story about him.
I can't say for certain, but I think this is what healing is. I think it will take a lifetime and then some to make sense out of losing him the way we did. But I think something called grace can be felt even while the pain is still there in little jolts and shocks. And the pain still is there, but the brass tacks and razor's edge have dulled over these years. That stomach-flipping of the first year has been gone for a long time. The panic-stricken reality smacking me around has gone off to bother another. There is only the occasional sadness now, usually brought on by myself. Its okay to bring it out, to feel it, to miss him, to want to rage for a while in the unfairness. I think the difference is that now, I'm more in charge of it.
I think the biggest change over this past year is that I can feel happy, hopeful, even damn ecstatic in a way I haven't in a long time. There is no guilt in it. There is no faded grey edges, curling over and reminding me that all is not well. All is well. All is very well indeed.
There once was a time when that seemed so completely impossible. I can drive by the cemetary and not try to make out his grave from the road. I no longer slow down to a near stop and point it out and wonder about him. I know when I drive by, I know he is there, I know I think of him every time. But the neck-craning, eye-straining stare is gone. I wish I could remember when that changed.
I used to stare at his photos on my wall and try to recall the sound of his voice. I was so scared I would forget that deep timbre, that loud laugh. I know now that I will never forget them. I look at his photos now and I remember when they were taken, I remember the day and what we were doing. I remember that we were happy, that he was happy.
I used to hear a song on the radio that would within seconds have me in tears. I sing along now and I remember his corny name for karaoke and I laugh. I laugh that P-Money existed, that he would do his damndest to sound gangster at the 4-10. I remember his silver chains swinging as he danced and his big ole grin he had on his face.
I revel in his past because I can't do so for his future. I choose to remember with happiness all that he brought to my life. All that we went through, all the mistakes we made, all the hurt we caused each other... I remember it all. But I choose to take the lessons and make it better now. I choose to remember and to do it with a smile. I choose now. Grief doesn't get to choose any more.
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