my shadow falling on the marker with his name
much like my shadow must have fallen
through an open doorway countless nights
when some slight noise alerted me to check the crib,
or later, just to see the childrens' shapes in bed and know
that they were safe.
The tears did not appear beneath the wind chime
that I couldn't reach to (hopefully) repair at home.
The tubes were guarded by a frog, some wasps, and as I
batted them away, a groundsman came to see what was
the matter. We worked together, Juan and I, and
got it down for me to take, but I could tell that he was
clearly moved that he could help a mother
at her baby's grave, and on this special day as well.
We both agreed that I would see him once again,
but longing for that far-off day (or not) did not precede
the so-familiar ache that warns my surface will be breached,
the pain about to make its way
into the light.
At Daddy's place, I listened as they answered crossword questions,
knowing I could tell him what today was, knowing if I did that
likely in a minute, he would slip back into the fog
where he resides, where loved ones aren't in sight
but close, and coming back, perhaps, at any time.
But as I left him, walking to the car and driving off,
a woman called who needed me to scan some documents.
My signature last week went through in portrait and she
needed landscape for the files and with so many clients
in her care she really can't be bothered. Would I email right away
so they can process the insurance?
That's when I lost it.
I could hold it all together, seamlessly transitioning
from task to task, from exercise to kitchen and from getting
dressed to errands, all without a sense of stress, until
she called and one more thing was asked of me.
Poor lady. I could tell that she felt terrible.
But not, I think, as terrible as me.
You see, that's what a meltdown does.
You know they'll come, they just don't come on cue. You
might be talking to someone about a birthday, say the words sixteen
or son or accident or stand in line for deli meat, or see
that one of his old friends is getting married
and you're happy, really happy,
but you're also not.
For just a minute, meltdowns let you wallow in the loss,
reminding you that grief is never done, that it's
a process, and a fire that may cool down at times to
ashes and to embers, but also where the breath of God
may blow it into flames at any time.
Reminding you that it's okay.
Make no apology for feeling.
What you feel is really not the loss at all:
It's love.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2018
