You never know when sadness is going to pounce. It's like a ton of bricks just waiting to fall. It could be a piece of mail addressed to Kristianna Gough. It could be a song you listened to together. It could be a half empty box of cereal left from her last visit. I know better than to read her cards and letters. I save this for a day when I am feeling particularly strong. Or when I have totally given up and have surrendered to the sadness.
Odd things give me comfort. Like the list of clothing she was going to order by catalogue - she wrote it down on a piece of paper that was left lying next to her bed. I like to look at the list and imagine how she decided on each piece of clothing. I guess it's not too hard to imagine why I have decided to wear her clothing when running. The things we bought together have a special meaning. When we went shopping together we liked to frequent the local Goodwill Store and spend hours searching for hidden treasures.
Some things are still just too hard for me to do. There is a local health food store where we used to shop. Kristy made friends with one of the girls who works there. She even went over to her house and helped her paint one day. I still can't bring myself to go back to this store. This is where she used to buy candied ginger and parcel it out to me piece by piece. (We had a thing about sweets...) I wonder if they know what happened to her, why she all of a sudden just disappeared?
Today I passed a store we went to in order to find clothing for her to wear to her grandmother's funeral. She tried them on and even had me stay in the dressing room with her so I could give her my opinion. She looked beautiful I must say. One thing about Kristy - she made it a point to be extra nice to any salesperson. She and my father were so alike in this way.
On the way home I passed the grade school she went to. Where she learned to play violin and give summer concerts with her schoolmates. I passed the Jr. High where she played on the basketball team and won the Edgar Cerf award for good sportsmanship. Thankfully, the High School was not on my way home...
I suppose I should be glad I can still cry. That the pain can stop me in my tracks. The gasp that follows is like a shot to the heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment