A flurry of activities has only mildly assuaged my grief.
I screamed… at God. And then I just screamed.
I did the memorial service things. With flowers.
I hugged. I prayed. And others prayed too.
I ate too much. And I aged a lot.
And don’t get me wrong… I have laughed and remembered, too.
I have been to Disneyland.
I have read books again.
I have written poems. Like this one.
I have painted pictures.
I have practiced karate.
And then there is that failed attempt at gardening. (Something ate my bell pepper plant today.)
I have been to Louisville and Cedar Rapids. Flown on jet planes…
I have stood in the silence and solemn darkness of a spring night and listened to an owl call above the noisy frogs. And felt cool air on my face.
I have been to Yosemite and hiked the trails and taken in the views. With ashes.
And climbed Half Dome.
And I recovered from very sore legs.
I have sighed that sigh a dozen times… one day. And then a dozen the next.
You can’t simply walk away, quit or give up. I can’t.
And I see the kid in the camo hat… It isn’t him…
Or the Asian kid in Riverside on the long board. It isn’t him.
Or I eat Greek Food, which Ethan liked… he isn’t coming back.
Or I see a deer hit on the highway. He is lost. He is gone.
Or a pair of bulky SkullCandy headphones… and I miss him.
Or I spend the day at the old paintball field… and all I want,
Or a song, a song, a song…. I can never have.
A smell. Stupid smells can make me cry.
Or sometimes just driving…. I anticipate like watching a drop form on the lip of a faucet… but it never falls.
A flurry of activities has only mildly assuaged my grief …
And different feelings come back. But not him… not his face. Not his voice. Only memories.
I could cry that deep heaving cry that sounds wounded and wild.
I could curl up in a ball and stare through sobs. Silently.
Or make plans that never see light. That is that lonely long stare.
I could scream… a wild yell.
Live a good life. Move on. Gain closure… or whatever… shit.
Or paint again… write again… like this.