I’m writing in the future. It’s not the future but I’m in it. That’s how my anxious mind works it’s also how it doesn’t work. It won’t stay in standard regular time. It’s always behind or ahead. When I’m in the moment as they say I’m already preparing for the next or thinking of the last.
You died before your orchid bloomed. It was so close. I got it for you. We kept complaining about it not blooming. Now it’s close.
I’m not the person to keep the calm. I am not the person to keep this all together. Or am I?
Long pause….
I stopped writing this in fear the future was near. It always is, right? It’s what’s to come. I don’t think I can control it. Some say anxiety comes from the feeling of no control. Or wanting it. Or maybe that’s not true? But I think I read it somewhere. Mine may not even be anxiety. Just a few people have told me this is what I am. Anxious. Am I? Are you? Do a lot of questions mean anxious? Right there, I just asked several, I feel no different other than I have more questions. Nothing changed in my breathing or my heart rate. I just have a lot of questions. What is that called? Annoying is what I’m usually told. Am I right? Most times I want no answers. Because there aren’t any. Sometimes I ask and hope not to get a response. Sometimes I can drill a person like a detective/toddler.
I stopped writing when it felt like it was my “in the moment.” To be with you. They bent some rules to let us in. We aren’t in an area that has a lot of cases of the virus so we got to come see you. To say goodbye. To tell you it’s ok to let go. Not to tell you to hang on. To tell you we are all ok and to go.
Were we the ones hanging on? Or you? Can anyone really hang on? Or let go? I always think of really fragile full glasses of water over the Grand Canyon tight rope walking. No not water. No one cares about spilled water over the canyon. Cups of kittens. Its cups of kittens. Then you have to make it to the other side by hanging on? Balancing is what this actually is. Letting go isn’t dropping something. It’s not releasing a physical grip. It’s not forgetting you have cups of kittens. It’s also not falling. It’s just not hanging on. You can balance without hanging on so tight. I know there are books about this “letting go.”I need books about not hanging on. How to loosen the grip. Walk the rope. Keep the kittens safe while not actually hanging on to anything. Because there is nothing. to hang onto. Letting go isn’t forgetting. It’s carrying less weight across that small rope. It’s focusing on the cup of kittens in the moment. Dropping the weight of anything else so you make it safely across the canyon.
Caution: do no attempt said scenario at home. Or at the Grand Canyon. It’s closed.
I looked at that orchid and cursed like a sailor. I’m not sure about cursing on here. It can be a turn off to read bad words and also a turn on. So imagine I was cursing like a sailor and feel it like you wish. This orchid didn’t bloom in time for you to see it. We even joked about it. “Don’t die before this thing blooms! Hahah” I gave it to you the day after the celebration of love day, Feb. 14 for those who don’t know what day demands we love. I gave it to you the next day because we were both busy. I didn’t have time to love on the day the calendar demanded me to. I usually intentionally am preoccupied to show that love should be showed when we feel it. I also am reading to much into a day that so many love. Love is love all the lov’n time. I am intentionally difficult.
I stopped writing so it would not be true. So I maybe could trash it yet I saved it. Knowing it was.
I woke knowing. I knew when I got to work and lost my shit over the grass seed not being full that you were going. I knew when the van in front of me meandered casually as if he had no where to be which he isn’t supposed to be. Then turns into the donut shop I thought was closed with no warning he was turning. I knew when mom called me and didn’t text. I knew yesterday when we chatted about nothing and you looked so good and felt so good. I hope I feel that good the day before too. I knew it weeks ago when I wrote about it but was too afraid to tell you. You already knew? I knew. You also knew.
You are gone? To where? She wants to know. Not me. I know you know which is enough for me. But she doesn’t yet. Don’t worry about her. Which you can’t. Because you are gone. She is right here right now on my chest listening to my heart. The closest she feels to you she says. She wanted the red book. The algebra book from the top shelf you gave her to look at when she got a bit stir crazy. She has your pencil. I will watch it.
I can’t write about mom. Not now. I whispered I would take care of her. You know I will. That’s what this has been all for. I’ve been preparing for you to go. You are tired. Were. How many times will I write are. Like you are current. Except you are always a were now.
We worried this virus would be the death of you. You told me to live. Told me to read, write, take care of my kids and not let it stop me. No one makes you afraid but you.
I was told by someone I wished you had met I’ve got this. Am I somewhere safe? He used the f word. Which I secretly yet publicly now love. He is so much like you. You would have liked him. He seems to like me.
I didn’t know you wrote words you loved. I have your notebook. Now I know where my love of words and a good mechanical pencil is from. Somewhere along the way I learned this.
I will take the boat out. I told you I would and I will. I will tie good knots. I promise.
Can I write through this? Can you know I am? What do I believe? I love that you believed what you did but what do I?
I need a good political debate. Where are you to remind me of the politics that bored me? Who will bore me now?
I’m furious you didn’t have this virus. It also makes me furious I’m furious. I think so many thought you did. I knew you never did and also figured it would be what took you. Although, you don’t know how to do simple. Neither do I. I didn’t wish it upon you. I just figured it would be your time. You have fought to live so hard. Or you fought so hard to live. Your will to live outweighed your will to die. Until it didn’t. Today. Your body won. It said game over. Let me off this world. You wouldn’t want to be here for the rest of this misery we are projected to ensue. Maybe I’m jealous. Not that I’m wanting to die but the next few months will be difficult to want to live for so many. I told myself the other day that I hoped we would laugh about this one day. We would say “remember that time you got really sick but not from the virus sick and they all figured it was the virus.?” Remember?
You went so peacefully. I could see the nurse watching us girls. Not mom. Mom was tethered to you. Like roots of trees tangled. She was tangled. We all are one big root system. She is just imprinted more in yours. We are little off shoes. The nurse seemed like she was Trying to pick one to make the eye contact with, she caught me. She knew I was the one to make the contact with? Even though I looked away. I wasn’t ready. None of us were. The she came back and she nodded to me. But to all of us. Except I looked right at her and not you. I was still holding my own breath. It was done. You were gone. She needed someone to be able to say it to mom. To my sisters. Why me? Because that is me? I can’t stay in the moment long enough to watch yours end? But we all knew. We didn’t need to be told. We will need to be told to breath again.
I will sleep with puffy eyes. I may not even sleep. I can go without or with. I need to be able to be awake if the girls need me. I need to be awake if they don’t. I slept so well last night until something woke me all antsy. Like the night before. I don’t know if I believe it was a sign. That I was waking. I wake to crickets and interstate noise. But I woke to dead silence. For no good reason other than a feeling I was lighter. That I was going to be ok. Was I? Am I? We will see. Says my will. From yours.
Remember that time you died during a global pandemic…I do.
Aspenleaf 