BITTER AFTER TASTE

I am so used to this feeling.  A deep well of loneliness where I try to tread water.  Sometimes I give in and feel myself descending.  The cold watery hands are always buoyant and gentle....I am floating.  But the primal urge to breathe always interferes without my consent and I am at the surface again...gasping.  Ready for another try at release.  That short pause after descent yet before ascent is my salvation.  I can't bring her back but I can dream her face and for an instant forget.  She can still run, she can still fly, she can still shine.  Yet she can still die....over and over.

Two years ago when you died I became a different person.  It was a way to survive I think.  I was broken open - my old self shattered into a million pieces.  I will never be able to get them back.  And I don't want to.  Slowly I am examining my life.  I am so used to walking around with tears in my eyes and feeling invisible. For the first year I thought if I exhausted myself through running everyday it would make life bearable.  It did.  my mind let go while I was running and I was able to feel again.  When I stopped running and stood still I found the same questions were there.  Where did she go? Will I ever be with her again?  How do I go on?

So far the greatest peace I have achieved has been while sharing with others who have lost their own loved one. It's good to know others have survived having their hearts ripped out.  And yes, they do grieve just as much as I. Why is this comforting?  I don't want others to suffer.  What I think is that trying to comfort another actually comforts yourself.  It's what your heart is secretly trying to achieve in the back ground while you are busy grieving.  I have heard myself saying things to someone else which have totally surprised me.

I have cried for hours alone in my room.  Cries which were really screams. Primal screams - urgent - rasping - desperate.  I have screamed until my throat has pounded raw and beaten within my core. Somewhere inside me I thought it would make a difference.  Maybe it did, but it didn't make me feel any better.  What it showed me was a depth of desperation so full and terrible that I knew there were parts of me I have never seen  before.

Today my mind recreates images of Kristy all the time.  When I least expect it.  A few days ago I was dazzled by the bright sun light and a girl stepping into my presence.  Her silouette was so familiar.  The same strong legs, confident stride...same hair pulled back right to the nape of her neck.  She was graceful and assured.  That moment exploded in my mind.  The joy of being in Kristy's presence was so over whelming.  The after taste so bitter, I burst into sobs. Why can't I come to accept your death?  What part of me am I giving up if I do?  What part of me am I giving up if I don't?