When it is quiet.

I have been avoiding this, afraid maybe of what will happen when I actually stop to write.  Unsure of whether or not I am strong enough to let my mind and heart be open to one another.  These past 6 weeks have been so surreal.  I wake up each night with a start, there is no gentleness, no quiet wonder just a single jolt and my eyes are open and I am aware.  It is as though my consciousness refuses to let me have a reprieve from the knowing.

I cry when I am alone, when it is quiet.  There are no sobs, no wails – just tears that find their way down my face.  Sometimes, it is just one or two, sometimes I can not tell where one stops and the next begins.  Even so there is no pain, just emptiness and a deep bone sadness.  I have two faces, two bodies.  There is the practical, dependable daughter, sister, mother, friend, wife who walks ahead to make sure all is well and then there is me, who wants nothing more than to fold into herself, to find a quiet place far away from everybody.  A place where I can breathe in the wind, feel the rustle of the leaves on my skin, sink into the earth and listen to the world’s song.  A place where I can nurture the child that is rocked in my belly; a concrete reminder that our lives and deaths are part of a bigger dance.

I know that he is still here, that he watches over us and always will.  That eases my soul, but I am no enlightened being, my physical self wants to see his smile, hear his voice, watch him with his granddaughter, feel his arms around me and know that when I walk up the stairs, he’ll be there.  I want what is tangible, to feel his side and I have no shame in my desire.

Something in me has shifted.  I think that I have finally lost the last of my innocence and I mourn for her but I feel as though she has been replaced by something as equally wondrous.  It is as though this journey opened a part of me that has been dormant, waiting for me to be ready to accept it.  Maybe it is because I decided that I would see the beauty in dad’s illness and death – that I wouldn’t let it twist me.  I chose and choose to find the blessings, to let myself be completely in the moment regardless of how difficult, to listen to myself and to others, to reach out and to not stop laughing.

I miss him so much.