Grief, or something like it

Did you know that a heartbreak can kill you?

I would know. Because,

after all,

that’s what killed me.

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He

…

I start the sentence and my throat closes in. Even now, in the ground, I glance around to see if anyone will notice that my eyes are red and my lips are shaking.

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He used to

…

I take a breath to gather myself. Even now, in the ground, the thought of him sends a deep ache rushing through the spaces that once were my veins. Even now, even in the ground, the whisper of his name can overwhelm the cavern that once was my heart, can tighten the places that once were my ribs.

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He used to tell me that

…

The tears are springing up now, pouring out now, falling down now, over the sides of my eyes.

I wonder what roots these tears will water.

I don’t know what is growing beside me. I don’t know what is stretching up into the light where I can no longer go. Maybe a rose, like the yellow ones we used to see at the rose garden we went to on Fridays. I want one, I would have said. And you wouldn’t have picked one for me, out of a deeply held respect for rules. But you would have gone out shopping for a bouquet of them, and you would have told me I was a thousand times more lovely than each and every one. Or maybe, what’s growing up beside me is a nettle or a weed, something that stings those who come too close. I don’t know, and I can’t really control all that.

We couldn’t control many things even when we were alive.

One time we were walking in the woods behind our home (when the snow was melting) and a new little waterfall had sprung up over night. Its tiny waves charged over mossy rocks and beds of ivy and across the trail in front of us - and it splashed our shoes as we watched it pass by.

If elves existed, the miniature kind, would you want to be an elf so that this stream would sound like thunder and look as big as a mountain? We asked each other questions, always, because (as we changed and shifted and morphed) there was always more to know.

We used to change a lot when we were alive.

Would you ever want to go whitewater kayaking? Mmm, maybe. Except I don’t like the idea of the waterproof bag that closes in around you in the seat and tightens around your waist. It’s called a spray skirt (which I think sounds weird.) But I think I’d feel trapped in a kayak. And I don’t like to feel trapped. Funny, I guess. Since I’m kind of used to that now.

How old were you when you went to Niagara falls? I was five. Did you know that they turn Niagara Falls off at night? And then on again for the visitors during the day? (This is true, by the way. I didn’t believe it when I first heard it and didn’t trust the person telling me - I didn’t trust many people - but I googled it later that night and it seemed to check out. I guess I still don’t really believe it.)

This is how I cope.

I follow streams of thought that catch my eye and walk down trails of old memories. To keep myself from choking up with tears.

With no throat left, my throat can still burn.

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He used to tell me that I

…

No, deep breath. You don’t need to think about him right now. Just tell yourself that you are okay. And imagine that this earth around you, pressing into you, is actually his skin. Which you would do anything to touch again. And imagine that these roots that wind around you are actually his arms. Because he said he would never let you go. And if you let yourself, you can still hear his voice.

Even in a body with no more blood, I can be warm if I hear his voice.

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He used to tell me that I was his world.

He used to tell me that he would never stop holding me.

And when you are alive, this is possible. To be someone’s world. To never let go.

…

Perhaps you are next to me, even now, one row over, a palm outstretched for mine.

…

One time, we were walking in the woods behind our home (when the snow was melting) and you were holding my hand. And you promised that you would love me forever. And I promised you back. And we kept our promises, both of us did.

And our promises built a beautiful life.

And our promises made life worth living forever.

But promises cannot keep you alive.

And death cannot keep you together.