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Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Old memories

My way of mourning is to be violently ill. Other people weep, I get sick and get dizzy and panic-stricken. So now every time I get sick, it feels as if I'm mourning. Sort of chicken egg thing, right? Like sometimes when you cry, you aren't sad until you think wait, I'm crying I must be sad and the world of reasons crash in after the fact. The bad is always there anyway and it can be easy to let it in.

So okay. The day I had the greatest illness was when my father died. It wasn't even the largest death in our lives, it just coincided with that violent illness factor. The severe mourning lasted about 12 hours and I was stuck at my bro's house because I was too sick to drive.

At about 6 am I finally thought I could do the hour's drive home. I did. I found my family asleep in our bed. We had a king sized bed then and all three of my guys (we didn't have the baby yet)  were in it. 

The moment I could climb onto that bed and join my family, that was one of the best moments in my life, an absolute epiphany of "this is home." I can still feel the rush of certainty, a rare gift of bone-deep understanding.

And now, when I have the mourning sickness, I try to reach for that. The kids in that bed are grown-ups now but they gave me that and I'm holding tight to it.

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