Loss feels more real. More believable when it rains. How can it be that the sun shines and the clock has stopped for you? That you won’t be the face in the red car behind me. That we will dead head the daisies all summer long but won’t hear your voice.
Moving on. The rest of the world did it the very next day. It’s one of the most curious things to happen. Something barely below the surface for us is a fading blip on a screen to everyone around us. And their crosses to bear may go unnoticed by us. I have always found it so strange how many realities we can live in. Those that overlap with one dear person may be hidden from another. Not by choice but by a lack of common experience. How we can shelf our pain to sit in awe of another’s happiness. There are losses and births in the same day and that our heart can navigate these with equal attention in different breaths.
I like order. I like things in their boxes. Lines in the sand. I have rain boots that I wouldn’t dream of wearing on a sunny day. I struggle because life is messy. People don’t play by my rules. They go off script and they don’t wear a sign that says “I’m going to ad lib bitch.” My historical response would be to retreat when a person did not meet my expectations.
How many times does it take to try a new way? Eleventymillion. Today is eleventymillion and one. Today I learn that I am not in charge. That it will rain on my picnic and I will wear sandals in that rain. That young people die before you finish writing the chapter with them and you will learn to deal. That your heart will catch in your throat when you see her red car but you will take a deep breath and motor on. That sometimes there is beauty in one thing ending because you can watch what happens next. To find pride in the ever after. To see how people rise to fill the space left by her.