I wrote this about a month ago, on the month anniversary of Kat’s passing. I share it today after two months have passed. — Micah
So I had a bizarre dream. Somehow Kat and I were in college together with my dear friends Jo and Rebecca for some reason. Jo & Rebecca are two woman who are full of life, love, and humor whom we had many a great time with before Kat passed. They also are women who dropped everything to help pull me through the weekend after Kat’s passing.
As would happen in college, in the dream there were some fun crazy antics. Then a disaster happened on campus. Of course my dear Kat had rushed off to help somebody. The disaster ended up centering on some crazed lunatic who was on campus… and he (or she?) was the one Kat was trying to talk down. When I realized it, I was overwhelmed with fear. I don’t remember the details, but Jo and Rebecca were trying to help me get to her, because my heart was breaking that I couldn’t get to her. I felt this desperate, hopeless, sinking feeling that I would never see her again and there wasn’t enough time, no matter how much my good friends helped me.
And then I woke up. As soon as I did, I remembered. No screaming, tears, or confusion as in other times, but a cold grim realization. Like waking to a winter chill that is to the bone, but of which words don’t have to be spoken because, well, you have known it more intimately and consistently than the presence of you closest friends. I remembered there is no going to her again. I felt her absence in every cell of my body, as I do even when laughing, smiling, or busy at work. I remembered how these two dear ladies have helped keep me going when I’ve been lost in this maze of loss. I remembered too if you count by Fridays and not by days, it has been a month. A month without her. And a part of me apparently deeply and profoundly cannot accept that and is crying out in my dreams.
“It has been a month of Fridays. And again I wake to not see your smiling face. To hear your laughter that was the music that like some metronome set the rhythm of my days. My heart no longer breaks but aches like an old bone that broke but never reset properly, which throbs with fire in rain and the winter chill. So many good things are happening in my life, but even in the laughter, that ache infects all I do. I would trade every one of those good days for another moment in your arms, for the sound of your voice, your breath on my cheek, the music of your laugh. But there is no coming home to me this time, dear one; and no going to you. Yet, such love! Such love! I have never known it. I doubt I will know it again. But such love! Such a gift you have been and remain.”
Perhaps the hardest thing at this month mark is I see people beginning to let go and move on. I am beginning to feel the uncomfortability in the room when I begin to talk about my loss one more time. “This again?” I can imagine them saying to me. I have begun to see those quick to answer my calls take their time, sending the subtle message I am becoming a burden to them. They are not bad people. They loved her. They genuinely meant it when they said they would be here for me. They couldn’t imagine how hard it would be for me or how alone I feel. They spoke out of their own grief. But they were not bone of her bone, flesh of her flesh.
I envy that they can move on. This is not an option for me. I carry in myself a loss as big as the worlds. I move on but I can never be the same again. I will ever feel the presence of her absence, and though I may learn to live, thrive, and een love again, it is simply not the same.