Weathering the Storm
It’s rather cold for spring, but still the birds are out and about dive-bombing for seeds, insects and scraps from the compost (perhaps a moldy berry, or some cherry tomato past it’s prime). Wisteria is in abundance along 501 highway, leaves are budding and peeking out from the sleepy grey branches of the trees, and wild grapes are again gracing the backyard fence (it will be war with the squirrels I tell you). I can’t remember a spring that emerged later than this one, but it is a sigh of relief.
A family loss over the past couple of days has dampened what would otherwise be a peaceful Saturday. It is quiet, but also somber and unsettling. Life cannot be adequately described, and when a loved one dies all too soon, the aftershock ripples through your soul in magnitudes that are augmented with each blow. I feel myself faltering at times, but I keep trying to remind myself to keep doing “normal” things; to keep making my bed, drinking tea in the mornings, check the mail, watch the birds, write—to keep rising with the sun. I remind myself that my dear relative has earned the highest honor one can achieve; they are now an ancestor and will guide me and my family with their spirit. Ah, how is it that I just two weeks ago embraced them and heard their voice? They did not disclose that they were battling cancer again; but something did feel a bit more mournful about the way they rubbed my back, the quietness of their voice, the tiredness in their eyes.
I’ve been functioning on automatic most of the time, realizing that my feelings and pain must be the least of my concerns, and to prioritize the agony of my other family members as they try to make sense of what has happened. I am very glad to know that before they died, I had come out as gay. They didn’t change their disposition. They weren’t apprehensive about being around me, and it meant the world to me. Now, I am reflecting on all the things I wished I said, the things about her I wanted to know—did she write it down? She knew so much of the family history. Much that I may never know. I still feel that she should be here somewhere—that maybe there was a mistake. And that the person they found dead in her home was not really her. I feel like it should all be a dream, and the more I think of it, the deeper the confusion and grief sinks in.
I am trying to cope. It’s been a difficult start to the year. But I will keep doing “normal” things while the storm passes. Funny, same day that she did, a tornado had spawned a couple of counties over; there were heavy winds, ominous grey clouds drifting low, and treed swaying and groaning. But there was also intermittent evening sunlight radiating through the breaks in the clouds. It’s going to be painful. But there’s beauty.
Well, until next time readers—stay safe and please do be sure to check in on your loved ones.
Cheers,
Olivia M.