The burial ceremony was held over a blanket of fresh snow on a cold January afternoon. I hadn’t grabbed my jacket as I left the church, I remember needing the pain of the chill to distract me from my overwhelming sorrow. Mom’s closest family were gathered there, and I stood the farthest away. I elected not to add a handful of dirt upon her grave.
I’ve tried driving by since, but manage to have my mind elsewhere as I pass. I blame it on too many thoughts, sometimes a make-believe case of ADD, sometimes not feeling well. I think in at least some part that I cannot completely recognize as of yet, it’s a contrived forgetfulness. I can still hear her telling me, “Why do you look for me there?”
Last night, as I was filling time until a friend got home from work, I went for a run. My feet just kind of took me there. It was a quick 2.5 miles, too quick for me to realize where I was headed. I gradually shortened my stride as I neared, working down to a jog, then a walk, as I crossed the life-rife lawn and sat with my knees held to my chest at her marker.
I let Norah Jones continue to sing in my ears. Her soulful voice enacts me to feel even when my bullying mind tells me that feelings are illogical, stupid, and counter-productive. The combination of “Painter Song” and my mother’s absence was potent.
I would paint my reverie
If that’s the only way for you to be with me
We’d be there together
Just like we used to be
Underneath the swirling skies for all to see
And I’m dreaming of a place
Where I could see your face
And I think my brush would take me there
If I were a painter
And could paint a memory
I’d climb inside the swirling skies to be with you
I’d climb inside the skies to be with you
I sat there and sobbed. I miss her so.
I’ve met with many tears as of late. Brenda thinks it is because time has passed and I’ve begun to let my guard down. All at once I have become flustered with life, and completely lost in the nonexistence of the time I was once so eager to schedule away. Brenda suggested just this week that I sit at her grave and speak with my mother, that she was always there to listen. I didn’t accomplish a lot of speaking last night, but it was a step.
I ran home with a chill in my bones, entering the empty house and feeling so entirely alone.