There is not a day he is not in my thoughts. Nat King Cole singing Mona Lisa on my music player, someone whistling to a friend on the street, a change in the air stirring up a man's cologne as he brushes by me. He's there, reminding me. I'm fine. And then I'm not.
It is the muscle memory of that last week. My arms remember the weight of his body as I steadied him on his side while my mother and brother changed the sheets on the hospital bed we set up in the back bedroom. I smell the peppermint lotion I rubbed into his legs and feet every day to soothe him and myself, the coolness of his skin under my hands. I hear what they call the death rattle shaking his insides on the last morning of his life. I knew what it meant. We were losing. We lost.
And today, almost eight years later, I am reminded again. My mood shifts and there's a change in me I cannot shake. A sadness I pretend not to understand, that I try to ignore until I realize there's no fighting it. It's not work or school or other obligations getting me down. I know what it is. I remember. And I grieve. Still.
4 comments:
Time may heal wounds but it doesn't stop the memories. Love you to the moon & back.
great post. i'm here for you.
Beautiful. And I'm right there with you, but four years behind. It'll be 4 years this week, and I feel like I can't blame my sadness on it anymore, that it must be something else. But thanks for writing this and remind me it's okay to still be sad. Love you, roomie. <3
this post made me cry. your relationship with your father is exactly what mine is. and so, in many ways, it is as though the love between you lives on, daisy. i am carrying that affection and devotion forward. i promise. and i cherish each moment with him as though it is my last.
love you,
maya
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