Lately I just want to call you. It is too long since we have spoken, too long since I have heard your voice. I often think of dialling your number just to hear your phone ring, but I know part of me will be irrationally hoping you will pick up and I will break just a little bit more when you don’t.
Love’s longing cannot be reasoned with.
I have your voice and mine on my computer, caught by the dictophone you hated but bought and endured, because I needed to feel I could keep just a little bit more of you. Sometimes I play the file for a few moments and close my eyes. Listen to the pauses, hear our smiles, the chink of your coffee cup and I can almost feeel you sitting next to me on the couch.
Right now I can’t bear more than a few moments of feeling you are all at once so close and so far. But there will come a day I will be able to listen to your stories, hear again what you had to say without getting all lost the story of this loss.
There is so much beautiful I would like to share with you bab. I still stoop to pick up stones and shells, the little trophies I carried home to you. I still pick out your presents. I still think of what I will tell you, take pictures to show you, still wait for your call.
The other day I could swear I heard you say my name: the name you chose, spoke and filled with love for me. I looked up, looked for you. For a moment I could have sworn you were there.
Most days are fine bab. In fact I sometimes wonder whether my grief blog has less grief than it ought to but I think that is as it should be. I am fine, growing beaming and bright again and I know you would be glad. So much of all that we were was shrunk in during the hard days of your illness, so much was lost that has to be re-found.
It is just days short of 5 months since you died now, just a few days short of your birthday. All that hurts. There is no daily diet of tears, no constant ache now but once in a while the pain is every bit as fierce and fresh.
There are days when the thought of the times, the weeks and months and years to come, all without you, trampling down on me is too much. Then my determined ‘I can, I will’ starts to feel a bit weak and thin, and I just want to curl back into myself like a chrysalis till I’m borne back into feeling better.
The trip was stunning and I wanted to tell you. On Monday night I sat swinging my feet over the back of the boat, watching the sun sink and set the waters alight. It was perfect and I was so angry that perfect could come without you in it.
It is hard to just let happy be.
I found myself bargaining with the sky, asking for just one more conversation, one more hour. I told myself I could cope better if I had just a little more time, a few more words. But what more would I say? There were so many goodbyes, so many I love yous, nothing unknown, and yet all of that, all that we had, was not enough.
It is not enough but it has to be enough, it is all I have.
I don’t want to build a shrine out of grief. I don’t want it to squat in the centre of my days and demand attention like a greedy god. I don’t want it to define me or drive me. I want what I feel to be about you and not it, yet sometimes the grief feels bigger than I am. It is hungrier, needier and it is always wanting more.
But, it has to be enough and I am working hard to choose happy, to choose okay, to choose better.
So I kicked my heals through the air, sang nothings into the wind, cried myself red-nosed ,laughed out the pain into the burning sky. A little more of the grief, I haven’t words or heart to speak, tumbled out and washed away in the shadow dancing waves.
For your birthday I am going to try and remember you with smiles, hold your love as a celebration and a gift.
It can’t be helped so I guess it just has to be enough.
Love ya bab