Grief comes to me at times when I most expect it to, at the most obvious times. The first anniversary of her passing. Or at night, when I try to silence all the noise from the day, all the noice that resonates in my head.
I don't expect it to come to me, but it does when a stranger says her name. But who expects that? A stranger. It came to me when I received mail from her brokerage firm addressed,"Custodian of..." I thought it strange that it came to me when I realized my vintage, beaded, Carmen Marc Valvo gown was stolen. I cried for both losses, unequal as they were.
But grief never comes to me properly. Not fully. Just in little annoying spurts. I wish it would stop sneaking up on me to tap me on the shoulder, only to disappear when I turn around. Then I'm left with this nagging feeling, it's there, just within arm's reach. And it's going to hit me hard and I can't brace myself, suck in my gut, or prepare in any way for a hit.
I'm going out, to be with friends. I'll hear it again, I'm sure of it, "You seem happy." Usually, I detect a mix of surprise and relief. Don't worry, I'm not going to fall apart in front of you. Because grief just doesn't come to me properly anymore.
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2 comments:
I understand completely. I was at a wedding recently and after too much to drink I found myself bursting into tears during the father/daughter dance (thinking of my dad).
Thank you for sharing... My father is still alive, but when the time comes for him to go, I've been told, "The pain never goes away, it just decreases over time."
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