for me every night at around 11 i would think of jeff dying. each sunday night. each monday day i would hear the echo of my own voice from those first moments. each 10th. each 11th. i ached at the light of each nearly full moon. then after a long while, time started becoming more normal. finally a sunday could pass without the brusing slap of recognition. but the moon, the moon dogged me for over a year-- i could barely stand to look at it, as if somehow it was the moon's fault it was there and i wasn't, and somehow it was the moon's fault that it was a reminder that if i had been there, maybe i could have stopped it.
then there are the other things- holidays that feel broken and aimless and surreal.
wedding anniversaries that almost cannot be contemplated. that do not seem possible. who were those people?
and then there are birthdays
today jeff would have turned 50. my heart has been inside out since before i opened my eyes. since before i remembered. bodies hold memory perhaps better than minds do. i have staggered through the day raw and tender and cringing against the upwelling.
goddamn it. i did not miss this acuity, this sharp ache, this fucking powerless grief.
