the sky is so crisp. the light is high and yellow and i'm remembering all the places i've been with this light. i'm so thankful for light and sound and scent and the ability to remember and for having a voice. i'm thankful for the taking in and the putting out. for how we can share it together.
i need to share my life. it's hard for me to find my voice when i'm with out the one i share my life with. it makes me wonder how people do it when they lose their partner for real- for longer than 3 weeks- but forever. i imagine you'd have to find yourself all over again. you 'd have to journey and search and open your eyes wide at a time when you probably want to shut them tight and roll into a ball. i miss my friend laura. she comes into my mind often-yesterday when baking cookies- remembering our laughing mouths filled with our braces - in her kitchen - when we were 14. we were. she was. we did. we had.
my friend kim just lost her sister. she wasn't even sick. she was there, now she's not. she talked about how hard it is to change tenses, to say things like 'was' and 'had'. to lose the future. to no longer even have the present. i can't imagine.
and i keep thinking about those krimm kids. the ones who died last month. the ones who were killed by their nanny. i keep thinking about their mom. the deepness of her pain. the pictures in her head. that it's almost Christmas. i can't imagine.
i think for these weeks i've only been living in the present, in a necessary way, a survival way. i haven't allowed myself to go back, to imagine walking the streets mike is walking now- i haven't let myself to see our old paths. i have just been here here, in the redness of dirt and the beautiful darkness of faces.
but today, with the light and the dry and the music that is playing and where my heart is, i can be there too, where he is now, and hear the scraping winter branches, and see the breath on the window. i can be back in the morning light of san francisco, with the coolness of that air above the ocean and the wind always pushing back. i can be in the season i've left behind. i can live in all the tenses- awake and alive and be so so eternally thankful that right now- my husband, and my sister, and my children are somewhere- right now- here. i can hold this light, these sounds, their little voices, the songs around me.
i need to share my life. it's hard for me to find my voice when i'm with out the one i share my life with. it makes me wonder how people do it when they lose their partner for real- for longer than 3 weeks- but forever. i imagine you'd have to find yourself all over again. you 'd have to journey and search and open your eyes wide at a time when you probably want to shut them tight and roll into a ball. i miss my friend laura. she comes into my mind often-yesterday when baking cookies- remembering our laughing mouths filled with our braces - in her kitchen - when we were 14. we were. she was. we did. we had.
my friend kim just lost her sister. she wasn't even sick. she was there, now she's not. she talked about how hard it is to change tenses, to say things like 'was' and 'had'. to lose the future. to no longer even have the present. i can't imagine.
and i keep thinking about those krimm kids. the ones who died last month. the ones who were killed by their nanny. i keep thinking about their mom. the deepness of her pain. the pictures in her head. that it's almost Christmas. i can't imagine.
i think for these weeks i've only been living in the present, in a necessary way, a survival way. i haven't allowed myself to go back, to imagine walking the streets mike is walking now- i haven't let myself to see our old paths. i have just been here here, in the redness of dirt and the beautiful darkness of faces.
but today, with the light and the dry and the music that is playing and where my heart is, i can be there too, where he is now, and hear the scraping winter branches, and see the breath on the window. i can be back in the morning light of san francisco, with the coolness of that air above the ocean and the wind always pushing back. i can be in the season i've left behind. i can live in all the tenses- awake and alive and be so so eternally thankful that right now- my husband, and my sister, and my children are somewhere- right now- here. i can hold this light, these sounds, their little voices, the songs around me.
2 comments:
Love, I feel the same way. I feel somehow lost without you, not knowing how to walk down the street or where to go to eat. The experience is less here without you without sharing it with you.
Love, Mike
xoxoxoxo
tomorrow night will be one week left
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