It Came For Me Again

It came at me again tonight. It sneaked up on me like some unwanted slithering snake, sliding up on me until it wrapped around my soul to choke it. It was my own fault. I was growing complacent. I grew cocky in thinking it had lessened to a manageable existence. Besides, the world has turned upside down these past few months, shaking the hardest times behind me to face the hard times ahead. And yet, tonight, in moments spent thinking of all his good, it rushed by the virus to show me its presence. All I could do is sob.

The pandemic had me pushing it back. I didn’t want to be so egocentric when the world was so much bigger than me. Most people don’t want to hear about it now while in their own pains and feeling their own frustration. So it laid untouched, not just by others, but by me and things not handled are forgotten. These past few weeks mobbed in front of it, blocking its view, its feel, its importance. Only, it was still there, no matter where it was placed, it was there. It never lost its footing in my life. I lost my vision of it, but it was still there.

Even as it lessens or becomes more comfortable in me, it still surrounds me, picking at the scab it formed in my being. And tonight, the scab was scratched, opened by a memory, and so I bled out, again. The pain, the unfairness of it all, the inability to understand, the anger, the despair, the longing, oh God, the longing, all spurted out of the open vein of my heart that held him. And I hate it, again. And I wish it back behind the sheet the virus holds up to hide it from me. And it wished it snatched all its torments in back of it.

But wishes don’t come true and it didn’t. It came through. All the pains of missing him came out of me, along with the agony, the self-pity of living without him, the screams of agony to God, The Universe, trying to understand when I am going to get a fucking break from Life. Trying to grasp why this scratchy label of grief keeps rubbing me when I move a certain way toward a life without him. And, when I heard the dog I wanted fell through, and see the poor numbers of my latest book, and know my writing is going nowhere, I fall back in defeat, cussing at Life for the punches I keep on receiving. And my guilt reminds me of the people who are sick, dying and loosing jobs, and I succumb to more pain.

I fooled myself. I always knew Grief never left me. It couldn’t when all my realities which cause it to remain. I am still a widow. I am still widowed from a man I knew for 34 years and fathered my children. I am still a widow who did not chose this, ask for it, saw it coming or had a gradual relationship breakdown. It whooshed into my life and I spun from it force for months. But then I slowed, until I didn’t, until grief reminded me its still a powerful force in my life. I thought I steadied myself, but it came through again, knocking me unbalanced. And, for tonight, I wish I could be just another person in this world part of the ugly, scary togetherness of the pandemic. Instead, I am all of that as a widow, as Peter’s widow. There are two griefs staying with me tonight, and I did not want either. And it is too much. So, I cry.

I will put this day to bed with a goodnight now, knowing tomorrow holds promises and new beginnings. I believe in tomorrow because of the good that came out of past tomorrows. Yes tonight, grief came at me, again, reminding me, its not done with me, and maybe I shouldn’t push too hard to be done with it.