grief stumblingstone: goodbye from space

“I know you feel like you’re aging too fast, but at least you know I’ll always be older than you.”

Today made a liar of Dave. Today I am older than him.

Today I caught up.

This has been a sinking space on my calendar for almost a year now. At therapy, I can’t quite explain what created the black hole, only that this event has swallowed me in.

When he was my age, he was dead.

And now, I walk where he hasn’t gone first. Now I walk where he can’t just reach behind and give me a hand to hold.

I’m not sure I want to see what he didn’t, but I’m already in the orbit of that, and can’t shift direction.

Gravity holds you in place even when you want to float free, and sometimes the hold is a hug, and sometimes the hold is a strangle.

I woke up choking.

But I woke up.

I keep waking up.

I keep waking up, even after the death of stars.

Today I’m wondering why.

(Last post about grief for awhile, I promise.)