A Flurry of Activities has only mildly assuaged my grief.

A flurry of activities has only mildly assuaged my grief.

I cried.

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.


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