The season is on the cusp of revolution, over the horizon, but sending harbingers. Change upon the wind, the last of the summer heat, grasping. Tomorrow, tomorrow should be much different, as the wet Pacific front resets all the switches. There may well be snow on the mountains by the weekend.
The gout of emotion and memory has ebbed away, leaving only grime and dampness. There needs to be a word for this, which isn't grief, not even for what wasn't. I'm long past wishing for a different past, or a different set of kin. I am the useful mess I am because of who they were, and what I managed to make of that.
What to call the reaction to the death of someone hated, but somehow important and entwined in one's life? It yanks, hard, on all the other memories. I thought I'd be joyful, relieved, eased in heart. Which is not how it felt. Maybe just because I have witnessed death, and although it causes me no fear, it has my respect. I know how people die, it is a solemn business. The sense of lightness, of a burden laid down has happened, but the weight was already mostly gone anyhow. The last stone, left on the grave.
Calling my brother was the right decision, no question. And I am pleased with myself that I handled that with calm detachment. I listened, asked questions, let him talk, gave away very little. I took in his story of the death of our father, and I translated it into my own version. Failed to get his email address properly, and he didn't make sure. Tried several versions, no response, which is fine. Well, can't say I didn't try. Sorta.
Soon, I will walk in the wind and rain, face into another year, another winter. They begin to blur, but I love the chill no less each time.
3 comments:
"gout of emotion and memory" - a powerful phrase. You are probably experiencing a sadness in suddenly reliving unhappy memories... a grief of a kind too. Give yourself the time to recover, which I think is already starting to happen.
ml,
The problem is that all the words for grief feel utterly wrong, sad and unhappy just don't apply. Not sad, not painful, but it was deeply disturbing. I've experienced grief, this isn't it. Or wasn't. It is passing off much, much faster. I'm looking back on it now in an analytical wonderment.
"useful mess" is a wonderful description.
of course, the first time i read it (too quickly) i read "useless mess" but then had to go back again because it really didn't seem like the sort of thing you would write - and i was right! you hadn't!
as for the nomenclature, i am certain that the german language has just the perfect word for what you are feeling, and it is probably several syllables long.
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