The undertow


I can get through parts of the day without thinking about him. I might even laugh and realize I am laughing, and see that life goes on, whether or not he is here. I might be proud of those hours. I am proof that what we said did not matter, that his presence was never meant to be permanent. It’s as if I hadn’t said those things that he witnessed. What passed between us ceased to exist the moment I deleted it. Or maybe before, when he did.

But there are other moments in which I feel completely derailed. As if I am dissolving from the inside out. At times the question of him is so substantial, I feel unsteady, and everything I am doing right is in jeopardy and at risk of being abandoned. I want to let go and succumb to the undertow. I know if I move quickly out of view and let the wave break, the ground will hold. And if I wait an instant longer, the day will snap back into focus, so that I can move forward.

It’s crushing when the vacuum sucks these feelings in just as I think I am doing okay. At lunch with a friend, smiling next to my husband, hugging one of my children, I feel the weight of him and realize I am not whole. Even when I should be. Even though life is so much easier here than it could ever be with him.

I want to hear his voice. I want to see him. That is the terrible line I have drawn in the sand. I want to be real. And I am realizing that it isn’t that he doesn’t understand or hear me. It’s that he doesn’t want to. And there is no way around or over that. There is only through.

Photo Credit: snowflakesarewhite (Creative Commons)

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