Sometimes grief hits you in tiny waves. Gently, like waves lapping around your feet at the shore line. Tiny but persistent, steady.
Sometimes the grief you feel doesn’t make sense to you. That out of all the lost moments or realizations that could break you down this is the one?
I felt so heavy when the lien holders came to get your car. I don’t really understand my sadness about it. I stripped your entire apartment bare, sifted through the contents of your life methodically but this is what wounds me so?
I gaze at my key ring and feel the heaviness in its lightness. There is only one key remaining and it is for my own home. Yet, I pick up and mail off your remains with dutiful stoicism.
I replay your daily voicemails from your morning calls. Ten thirty on the dot, usually unanswered as we were doing school. But managed to sustain myself over the holidays and your birthday.
I miss you in the mundane. The nuanced routine of sharing our life with you. The absence of you magnified by how interwoven we were.
There are no more morning calls “Hello”. No more familiar grey car pulling up. No more access to you. Any time, any place, any thing I needed large or small, you made yourself available to me. Willing to help.
As you once wrote to me on a card “Time heals all. Life will never be the same. But a new normal will be created.” These are truths shown to me by experience. But right now I want to go back in time and linger in your presence, your open availability to whatever adventure life conjured up for us. I wish for just a little longer rather than feel those little waves of grief slowly drowning me now.