It's coming. That time that time seems to freeze and stand still, when all I can think of is you. The time of year that I let all my guards down and open the gaping wounds in my heart and think of you, of your smile, laugh, the way the wind blew the last time I held your face with my eyes. I still see you, just out of the corner of my eye and just over my shoulder. All tangled up in the he said she said drama that ensued I still see you.
I talked to someone about it last year; about the rush of water that seems to drown me the week before. I want it to stop. I don't want to stop missing her, I don't want to stop loving her, I don't want to stop remembering her. But I want to stop being so paralyzed by the sight of an ice truck, or the dinging of a bell announcing the arrival. I want.

I've tried lancing the wound throughout this year. I've tried to work through it in small doses instead of drowning in it for 1 week only.
But I'm nervous, that it will still happen. That I will be crushed all over again, that I will not sleep and I will eat and eat to push down the grief.
This year, ten years after, I'm going to try. To not shrink away from friends and family, to not hide in my bed listening to sad music and swimming in a cold drink.
I'm going to try.

1 comment:

jake - aka the comment novelist said...

If it rears its head (grief, pain, etc.), remember that you don't have to stuff it down. Just remember there are other ways to deal with it than what you mentioned.

Call me.

Call Sharen.

Call Pete.

Call Ben.

Go for a walk.

Throw in an extra workout and use the pain towards better health.

You can feel it, you might feel it forever, but you don't have to let it control you.

I love you.

(The pot is now officially done calling the kettle black for the day.)