As time flows

12 weeks, and they have flown by, since I’ve posted here, Kissie. I’ve traced these months with memories so fragile and distinct; so immense and complex that I feel I’m standing at the sea waiting for the words to rush in and write me. So I go to my pen and paper and scratch out my feelings there, or on my walks in the early light, I speak to you, out loud.  I say your name, and talk as if you are walking beside me, as we used to. I don’t ever want to stop saying your name — in fact, all your names: formal, informal, married, single, and best of all, your nickname. The name I gave you as a child when I couldn’t say Chrissy.

As time flows, no matter the measure, this blog remains close to my heart. It’s one of my ways to love you now.

Also as time flows, I find that I want more ways to grieve you and remember your life, not less. I notice I get angry and frustrated and impatient when I find these outlets lacking, and people unwilling to mourn and revisit the past. So I seek them out, people unafraid of their own grieving, and those weaving their memories into something worth keeping. Those who did not lose their loved ones but who had to, nonetheless, say goodbye and see them down. When I can’t write, or spend time in the company of these fully alive souls, I find that I must cry it out. It’s cathartic for me, and as honest as it gets when words are of no use.

This resonant piece Death and families: when ‘normal’ grief can last a lifetime – by a bereaved sibling has some excellent observations on the passage of time and the pervasiveness of death phobia.

6 thoughts on “As time flows

  1. You are one of my “people unafraid.” Thank you for grieving openly, and personally, and with me. Love YOU.


  2. Thank you, Mimi. I feel the changes in my own body, beginning to sink down, heading through transformation, and watch my four year old daughter rising in height and strength and bursting with life each month. The wonder of it all. Things seem at once much colder and harsher than ever before and along with that, or maybe even because of it, that much more miraculous. Sending love.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Indeed, Kev. You put it so aptly: “Things seem at once much colder and harsher than ever before and along with that, or maybe even because of it, that much more miraculous.” More and more I’m leaning toward “because of it.” Love to you.


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