The movie reel of memory spins out of control, faster and faster, chaotic. Searching for the last frame, trying to find that moment otherwise ordinary. You never realize the end is the end, unfinished. A perfectly ordinary day doing the mundane turns frantic, leaving you longing for before. Before it happened. Before the thing happened that irrevocably destroyed the familiar.
Bad dreams are dreamt at night, but nightmares begin when you awake. The sweet release of dark, unrestful sleep gives way to your eyes opening in realization. It gives way to the searing loss of loss. The face you’ll never see. The voice you’ll never hear. The arms you’ll never feel. The time you’ll never have. Tangible, choking fear. And the anger burns. It burns you up for the not knowing. For the not understanding. For the sorrow sick pain that sinks into places never to be quenched. A ticking clock echoes into the emptiness that goes on forever. Words won’t come. Words are shallow and useless.
The ebb and flow of tears and laughter. Remembering. Exhaustion is heavy on the shoulders, oh that someone could lift it off, if only for a moment! Hands seek to find a task to keep the helplessness away, to keep the alone at bay. Cards and flowers that mean well, hated. Well meaning people trying to share what’s yours. And the rage seeps out again, and the quiet. The being lost and wanting to be found. Normal has been laid to rest, an unchosen destiny reaches out from the murky future. Questions, no answers.
*“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.”
Time, the healer of all wounds, false. Scars and love, good and bad, tears and happy all remain, locked in the archives called beloved. The future comes then goes, the missing ache doesn’t, dimmer but present. Blocks on a calendar mark days forever etched on hearts and marble.
The movie reel slows to a stop, filed in a can named Past. A fresh, blank roll and the camera rolls again, recording the beginning of the beginning. A perfectly ordinary day doing the mundane, forever changed, leaving you longing for before.
*Twenty Third Psalm