Today… I took a trip to Canada in the middle of the work week and it is difficult to communicate why I had to get away… Why it was emotionally necessary to jam myself for hours in a space slightly too small and endure an unnatural posture for hours.
Sometimes in the midst of grieving it is difficult to deal with the normal life around… with the familiar. It is hard to rush up against memory after memory… the same memory time after time in the same place… and I wonder if I am pushing myself too hard to be “normal”. And part of the problem isn’t just that memories of Ethan are everywhere, and that I have no way of knowing if those sudden flashes from yesterday will make me laugh or cry… but there are memories of myself… and it no longer seems like that was me. Those thoughts of me yesterday, a different time and a different place… and I have to conclude, a different person– one whom, no matter how hard I strive, I can’t ever get back too.
Like a crab looking at the discarded shell from his last molting.
So it seems reasonable to go to Canada… to sort it out. To sit in a gastro-pub in the hipster collegiate part of town and think of Ethan… to remember a dream that happened in a repurposed brick building like this one. To contemplate his memory and smile or cry or stare. But it is different. And it is necessary.