Tonight is the last night of Summer. I usually get really excited about Fall. I love this time of year. But not this year.
I don’t want to let go. I want to hold on to these three months, because I’m afraid I’m going to forget.
Forget his grin, his silly laugh, his teasing. I’m afraid I’m going to forget that he wasn’t always 33 years old.
I found a post on another site. I wrote in January of this year that my boy was in trouble. Asked for prayers.
And I forgot. Forgot that he reached out then as well.
I walk with a perpetual lump in my throat these days; I’m mute. I have no more words of advice. Nothing. I cannot swallow.
I stand next to my Dad, and I know he’s hurting, and I try to talk, and he grits his teeth and works on my shed.
Because we can’t talk about his grandson, and as much as I want my boys to fill in…they simply cannot.
And should not.
I remember last Autumn when I had finally turned a corner, and decided to date, and was starting to enjoy that new venture.
And then I catch my breath, and breathe in sharply, and know that I never stopped loving.
Or whatever it is. Love? I don’t know. But I know I tried. Dammit. I tried.
And I was too bereft to care, to join, to love again.
I feel afraid that I’m always going to feel this way. Have this absence. This pain that will only go away in time.
I found God in an unusual way.
I made plans. A lot of plans. And, He was like Half Dome. Just standing there. Waiting. Watching me work it my way.
I planned a trip that I had no business taking. Not in that way.
I fought and kicked when it didn’t turn out as I hoped. To lock down my love, as if it was that simple.
I was not fun to be around.
I wanted to scream that my nephew was dead.
And when all my thrashing was done, Half Dome was still there. Saying come here. I’m here. Follow me.
This is what I do, and I apologize for nothing.
I learned that I have to grieve as long as I have to grieve, and not one minute earlier.
I want it to be over. I want to have another Summer. Like 2011 or was it 2012? I have a bad memory
And a good forgetter.
There’s a mountain lion in my town. Prowling the creek where I want to run. Or so they say.
I run infrequently.
I lift weights. Sometimes.
It’s only by feeling that I can walk through all of this. I want it to go away, and it won’t.
Not until it’s done.
I miss you. The thought of you.
And, I suppose that’s how it’s going to be, until it’s not.
Next year, when all the Summer beach pictures go up, I will remember the Summer I had.
Or lost. And I will cry again.