traffic patterns
You’ve been gone a week now and traffic is still exactly the same. I still can’t do all of my grocery shopping in one store and I still haven’t gotten a pedicure. People still rarely say “excuse me” and the sun, in its careless way, manages to rise and fall as it always has. The world is all the same, except that you aren’t in it.
How can that possibly be?
I don’t romanticize you and think you something different than what you were. If anything, without the shroud of worry, I see you more clearly than I ever have. All of these things, the hurt, the resentment, the love, the fear, they are all there in their varying shades. From pale to bold and all intensities between, but they are nothing in the face of this one thing I never expected to feel. I miss you.
When I walked into the hospice room, I harbored some hope that I would have resolution. That I would be able to say all of the things I wanted to say, to feel bold. To feel inspired or empowered. I didn’t feel any of those things. I just felt sad. There you were, 75lbs, barely breathing. I don’t know if you knew I was there, but when I told you I was sorry, you looked right into my eyes. For that moment, I felt you there. What I saw was resolute. Resolute in a decision that I wanted to vehemently shake out of you. There, so frail, you had your power, and I had none.
The man in the other room coughed and the moment was gone.
We held you, laid hands on you, talked to you. We absolved and loved and forgave and mourned. Cars drove down the street, in their careless living. Breeze rearranged the leaves across the sleeping grass. Your heart fluttered like a tiny bird, beautiful and fragile until it couldn’t fly anymore. 11:34 came and claimed you and granted you your rest.
This blue planet spins, we work, we live. You left some things a mess, these things are not to be fixed. Yet, we remain. We walk in your wake and soak up what is left of your warmth. We learn not to survive, but how to grow wild. We do this without you, as we did with you and in all of this extraordinary commonality, traffic never changes.
May 14th, 2010 at 3:14 am
your words my friend, are so astoundingly beautiful, poignant and truth-filled. i sit here in tears and in awe. much love and peace. xo
May 14th, 2010 at 3:36 am
as always, in awe of your strength and your words.
May 14th, 2010 at 3:36 am
I find myself in awe of the way you can make even the saddest and heart-wrenching events sound beautiful.
I am wrapping you in love.
May 14th, 2010 at 3:40 am
This will sound callous, but I know you will understand. This letting go and mourning — it is for you. You owe him nothing, but you owe yourself everything.
May 14th, 2010 at 4:07 am
i have been gone and just found out. . .
i am heart sick for you my christine. i’m sorry he is gone, that you hurt.
sending love, hope, and light your way.
xoxo
May 14th, 2010 at 4:08 am
All of my love and blessings to you.
May 14th, 2010 at 4:14 am
Love to you as you go through this and always
May 14th, 2010 at 4:51 am
I am so very sorry. I hope you both can have a bit of peace now. xo
May 14th, 2010 at 5:06 am
I haven’t gotten a pedicure either if that makes you feel better
May 14th, 2010 at 5:47 am
I’m sorry sweetie. I always find it strange that life continues on, even as those around us die. It seems there should be a pause, a moment, but there isn’t. “Grow wild”, I like this. Take care.
May 14th, 2010 at 6:38 am
xoxoxo
May 14th, 2010 at 8:49 am
Your spirit is immortal, it thrives and craves and loves in abundance. ((Hugs)) You’re in my thoughts sweet friend during this time of sad in betweens and loss. (Hugs)Indigo
May 14th, 2010 at 10:06 am
i remember the grocery store being a weird place to be. why am i here? why are all these people here? don’t they know? i looked in their faces, and they didn’t know. wait, but my dad… doesn’t that mean i get to cut in line?
the world still spins.
i felt, when he died, that he knew everything. he knew how much we loved him, how hard we tried, that in his passing, he gained knowledge. and i’ve felt closer to him since.
love to you, sweet girl. you have my number.
May 14th, 2010 at 11:49 am
Oh, sweetie. Peace to you, as the world keeps spinning.
May 14th, 2010 at 11:57 am
i think you have found some resolution in yourself, if not necessarily with him. And in yourself is what you needed.
xoxo
May 14th, 2010 at 3:33 pm
It’s shocking sometimes how things just keep going when your world has stopped.
I’m sorry.
May 15th, 2010 at 1:33 pm
I’m sorry, my friend.
May 15th, 2010 at 9:50 pm
So very sorry.
May 15th, 2010 at 10:34 pm
Isn’t amazing how so many things keep buzzing around us when we’re in the midst of grief? Shouldn’t everything stop? It seems like it all should stop.
I’m so sorry you’re in the midst of it, and I’d tell you it’ll get better, or rather, it’ll get DIFFERENT (which it will), but that takes time and this is fresh and right now, well, you just have to be in it. Sigh. So I’m sorry you have to be in it. B/c it sucks. Plain and simple. Sending you love Christine. LOTS and lots of love. Oh and hugs too, of course. Duh.
May 15th, 2010 at 10:59 pm
Sorry, Christine. Thinking of you. Saying prayers for peace and hope for the future.
May 16th, 2010 at 6:44 am
Thinking of you and holding you close in my thoughts.
May 16th, 2010 at 9:21 pm
I really so very much understand this.
Xo.
May 17th, 2010 at 9:36 am
So sorry for your loss.
May 17th, 2010 at 12:04 pm
You outdo yourself. No, really, honey: you outdo yourself.
My father was 93 pounds when he passed away, and my relationship with him was pretty “clean,” emotionally…but I still have found that his death birthed in me a whole new way of loving him, with whole new aspects to our relationship. Strange, that: the relationship doesn’t die when the person does.
You are amazing. That’s a legacy right there.
May 17th, 2010 at 4:09 pm
“We learn not to survive, but how to grow wild.” There is something in this that just grabbed a hold of me.
I don’t have the right words for this, but know that my heart goes out to you.
May 17th, 2010 at 5:44 pm
i felt like i was witnessing something holy reading this, Flutter.
much love to you.
May 17th, 2010 at 6:25 pm
Haven’t stopped thinking of you, just so you know. I am glad to see you on facebook and the blog. May life be gentle for you through these days dear Flutter, I know they are some of the hardest to face.
May 17th, 2010 at 7:02 pm
Coming up empty, wishing I could hug you.
May 18th, 2010 at 6:26 am
This was beautiful, Christine. I’m so sorry for your loss.
May 18th, 2010 at 10:04 am
It seems impossible, doesn’t it? When someone has always been there in your life that the world doesn’t stop or even change when the someone is gone. Only yours does. And that stoppage or change is only temporary. Pretty soon, the axis starts spinning again and but for your memories and emotions, it’s as if someone never was.
I think the world was designed this way, to make room for the new people, the new experiences, and the new emotions.
Hugs, Christine. I know it is hard.
May 18th, 2010 at 10:33 am
I am so sorry for your loss. I’m glad you are writing about it. I am glad you have that. Many many hugs to you.
May 18th, 2010 at 12:04 pm
Lord, woman. This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read.
I am profoundly sorry for your complex loss. Thank you for your grace.
May 18th, 2010 at 10:11 pm
I hate that you are in the sorrowful place that created this. But know that it is a painfully beautiful and meaningful piece, and it spoke volumes to me. Thank you for sharing your heart.
May 19th, 2010 at 5:42 pm
I’m sorry, Christine. I am so sorry. But this is so perfect, so true and real. I’ve shared the same marvel at those resolute, intractable traffic patterns. Love you.
May 19th, 2010 at 8:02 pm
Your honesty is inspiring. I’m sorry for this complicated life and loss. Wishing you peace.
May 19th, 2010 at 8:35 pm
Writing it helps, doesn’t it?
May 20th, 2010 at 4:45 am
Haunting and gorgeous. Keep breathing. In and out. Sometimes the simplest things are the best.
May 20th, 2010 at 3:28 pm
Simply beautiful and so heartfelt…so bittersweet, much like these things in life.
May 21st, 2010 at 2:17 am
I’m so sorry.
This is so beautifully written.
That must be one of the hardest things about losing someone – seeing the world keep moving and you captured that so perfectly.
BIG HUG Christine.
May 21st, 2010 at 9:04 am
this stole my breath.
May 21st, 2010 at 9:39 am
I wish you lived here. I would have you over for fruitbars.
You are a lyrical genius in the best and worst of times. These are the things we must walk through and I’m so glad you can get it out in your remarkable way.
Here for you whenever, honestly.
May 21st, 2010 at 9:45 am
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May 21st, 2010 at 3:14 pm
So many others have said it so much better than I could… {{{{{HUGS}}}}}.
May 23rd, 2010 at 12:43 am
I’ve left this on my reader trying to think of something to say. I have nothing to offer. I’m so sorry.
May 26th, 2010 at 1:08 am
There is not one superfluous word here, not one superfluous emotion. With simplicity you said everything. Beautiful.
Much love.
May 29th, 2010 at 8:47 pm
May a lightness find it’s way into your heart as you heal from this loss. Beautiful and powerful as always.
June 2nd, 2010 at 7:32 pm
Beautiful … your words flow like water down a stream…
June 2nd, 2010 at 8:05 pm
I am grateful that you have shared the experience of the passing away of a loved one, as all men and woman of feeling would who have the fortune of stumbling across this page.
Reminds me of when my father passed away and the remorsefulness and sorrow of having missed his final moments by only hours….
Arpad
July 10th, 2010 at 7:54 pm
Lyrical. “Cars drove down the street, in their careless living.”