Surreality.

Every day I see people who knew you in life, sometimes running into them for the first time in decades; and, they inevitably ask about you as if they expect to find out that you’ve moved away to Canada, like you always threatened to do. The news of your short battle and premature death unfailingly drops jaws all the way around, and I regularly find myself in the position of having to firmly convince someone that you are dead and gone: a highly dissatisfying instance for me.
At least once a month I see a dress or a couch or a set of dishes that oozes your still lingering essence, and this essence permeates my existence for some time – maybe an hour; maybe a day…and as much as it stirs the burn of the embers inside the firepit called Pain, I greedily and secretly lean into the heat because it’s the only way I feel like I still know my Mom. Like I still have my Mom.
Every single night I walk my dog down the street your house is on. Although somebody else lives there and its appearance has been drastically altered since you died, I sometimes see your faint ghost on the front porch doing a crossword puzzle. I see your ghost watering the lawn too, or occasionally it even excitedly waves a hand at me from across Camden Avenue in the darkness.
I catch myself more frequently spitting out random statements and sayings that were always unique to you, alone.
Things like,

“In like Flynn.”

Or I sing stupid bits if stupid songs like,

“Here we come,
on the run,
like a hamburger on a bun.”
Or,
“Jonathan Joe had a mouth like an O”

I know its really you speaking in my voice, but I wonder what any of it means.

I often thank the Gods that you and I were able to at least scratch the surface of our reciprocal amendments to each other before you died so horribly fast and miserably. I’m continually thankful that I was able to thoroughly explain myself to you after all was said and done between us, but before your brain got so full of metastatic tumors that you were unable to comprehend me. I’m ever thankful that your passing wasn’t during any of our many former years apart, and that I was there to hold your hand when you asked me to be, because I can vividly remember that you were afraid, truly afraid. You never lost face though, you remain a bonebreakingly strong idol of my candlelit shrine. And no matter what else life throws at me, I will meet my last day on Earth with your smile on my face and your strength in my bloodstream. And, while your death killed off parts of me and stole any comfort I knew in the big, bad world, I haven’t let it burden me.
Though, I still bitterly wish we could have had Christmas in Sutter Creek, but it wasn’t meant to be.
Every single day passes with a strangling sense of your absence. And some days, I find you staring back at me from a mirror or the reflection from a storefront window as I pass. The tiniest and subtlest bits of your essence still trickle from the hole that losing you that way has left in my heart.

9 thoughts on “Surreality.

  1. Simon says:

    Big love to you… this was really moving xx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I know where you’re coming from. Little things stir big memories and longing.
    I see my Mum every time I look in the mirror. I couldn’t see her as often as I’d like, it wasn’t practical, but we visited when we could. I am glad my letters were read and re-read, however out of context and order, and I am glad she had my old poetry book by her bed. I am glad I got to see her when I did, glad she knew who I was on that last phone call, glad my last letter had arrived before she passed away. I am glad I was allowed to say my final goodbyes, tuck in a message of my love, and roses from us and my brother in NZ. I am glad I could sing for her, glad I can play Wind beneath my Wings for her, glad I am a part of her, and glad she was my Mum.
    ❤ ❤ ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Recoverywise says:

    Superlative emotion painted by a fragile heart, fierce soul, and devoted spirit, painted by an artist whose skill, courage, strength continues to tattoo over what I always thought was beauty.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Cherish the good memories and remember the smiles.
    They never go away and will always be good.

    While someone remembers, no one is forgotten.
    Xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  5. me says:

    ohh my friend ❤ loves to you xx

    Liked by 1 person

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