March 04, 2006

Hello, Grief.

It's always strong this time of year, and I can't believe it's nearly here again. Already?

This past year has been one of tremendous grieving for what took place almost 40 years ago.

Delayed grief is the heaviest kind to carry. It sits heavy, moves little, comes only in unrecognizable fits of terror that can't be attributed to anything in particular.

Better late than never.


Today tears came while I was driving. Whenever the enormity of it hits, it's fresh. So fresh. Five minutes fresh, not 38 years fresh.

I'll get it right, the remembering, a certain way of leaning, the movement of an arm, shake of a wrist, tilt of his head, the precise indent of the dimple on his chin. And each detail astounds me. I recoil and remember at once. Reminds the pain just how bad.

I find myself gasping, sucking in wind when the reminders come.

They are always unexpected, but once present, undeniable and familiar. Welcoming. It is that juxtaposition that makes delayed grief feel very much like madness.

But, he has movement now in my memories. Once, he only moved in my dreams. All of my memories were still photos.

His movement is another layer of my grieving.

With motion and dimension my own grieving moves.

It all comes forward.

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