3 Years, 2 Months - Black Arm Bands, Reclusive

Society should also implement the use of black arm bands again. I stood in the locker room stepping into a Speedo, pulling it over my old body. I looked at the young girls bodies, laughing. I did not look in lust or even admiration of youth and health. I looked in yearning. I wanted to scream. I was screaming inside. Can you not see me? Can you not see how much pain I am suffering? My husband died! My husband died! Can you not hear me screaming? I looked a little to long and had to turn away. They might wonder why I was staring. All the answers in their heads would never be the right one. I was not jealous of their bodies, or their youth, or friendships. It was not bisexuality that I did not recognize. I was not a dirty old lady or even rude. I was staring blankly screaming in my head. If I could only have slide the black arm band on after my swimsuit. Then they would know. They would quietly turn away and possibly stop laughing, leaving me in my grief alone. Nevertheless, they would know. It would not hurt so bad maybe if people knew. If the lady at the cash register gave me just a little extra patience because of the arm band. If people were a little quieter around me, a little more gracious, then it would not be so hard to go outside.

3 Years, 2 Months - Covering Mirrors

I now know why people used to cover the mirrors after someone died. I used to think it was to put aside vanity and focus on mourning. I think that is what the nuns told me when I asked. No, that is not the reason. It is because you cannot look in the mirror. You can lift your head. However, you are unable look forward with your eyes. If you accidentally catch yourself in the mirror the pain is overwhelming. That is you and you quickly look away. It does not trouble you that your roots are grey, your hair disheveled, your face without make-up your clothes slept in. That is not why you turn away from you. It is not the pain or sadness in your eyes. You just can not see yourself. You can not look. It is not that the look of sadness or the tear swollen eyes remind you of the pain. The pain actually bounces off your eyes' reflection and hits with force in the chest. You carry the pain everyday. Yet if you inadvertently see yourself in the mirror, unfortunately see your eyes, the pain not only resides in you but comes from without and rushes from the mirror to physically push you. I do not know how long it lasted. I avoided looking in the mirror for a long time. Then I would look but never at my eyes. I learned to put on make-up with minimal use of a mirror and never looking directly at it. Society should cover mirrors again.

4 Years, 9 Months - Your Death

It is the fourth season of Christmas since the last time I watched his chest lower, heard the last beep of the heart monitor, felt his energy crash into my chest, filing the space between my back and front ribs and once fully contained rushing with force up my spinal cord and shooting out the top of my head.
I knew without looking at the monitor, I had kept reminding myself not to watch just be with him, that the line was flat. He was gone now. I knew with finality. Then I looked and watched the flat line move across the black screen eating the mountains. The line moved fast erasing all that was left of his life. When the line devoured the hills and the mountains and conquered the screen, I looked away. I saw his older brother holding his left hand. The world was still. I heard his mother say we should get him ready. I replaced the head that had been my husbands away from my bosom back onto the hospital pillow and turned to look at his mother who held his right hand in both of hers. She told me to close his eyes. I knew how to do it from training by books and movies. I ran my fingers over his eyes bringing the eyelids to rest before brushing my palm against his cheek stubble. Why had I not shaved him when he asked? He never let me shave him even when I had asked in the shower. Because after that moment was gone, he no longer wanted to be groomed. I took the wet towels away. We had used towels to prop his head straight on the pillow when he no longer had the strength to keep it from falling forward. He would make the sign for rain to tell me to pour a pitcher of ice water on his head. We had not been able to replace the towels after the last rain. I tried to close his mouth but it would not close. It was set open in a gruesome tilted manner. I was sorry that his daughters would have to see it this way.

3 Years - Expectations

I just need to tell someone. Maybe no one will hear. Maybe no one will read. Maybe I am naive. But someone hear me. No one hears me.

They applaud the steps they see as forward and ignore with mild contempt and frustration the stagnation. I don’t only move forward. I am in a rip tide with my mouth barely breathing, pulling out and under to the sea. You only see when I make a movement towards shore. I know to swim parallel to shore. I know it is what I need. But, the water is cool and warm and wraps me. I can go with the tide without so much strain. I am tired from fighting it. The constant fight and I am no closer to shore. Swim parallel? Swim and swim and pull, arm over arm, turning my head for breaths, keep going. But I’ll only be the same distance I am now from shore just a bit upstream, perhaps downstream. Can’t I just let the tide take me, take it’s time? It will calm in time. The tide will lose its power. It will wane and I will just be floating in the sea. It will be harder for you to see me from shore. But, I will be there, safe in time. Then I can swim without so much effort. It will be refreshing, invigorating. Why is it necessary to struggle so much now? I will be strong enough when the rip tide losses its power and then I can move towards shore.

3 Years - Reminders Everywhere

They all have each other.


I see him everywhere

I think of him all day

Everything is him or us

Just to hear, ‘I am on my way home'