Sunday, July 11, 2010

A Day Has A Hundred Pockets

"Absence is like the sky, spread over everything." C.S. Lewis

When she died, I thought about her every day in the weeks and months following the accident. After the funeral, she materialized in my dreams.

I grieved.

Over the years, she stopped clinging to the minutes on my clock. I didn't think about her all the time. The thick milkshake of a sob throbbing in my throat lessened into a dull stab in my stomach every now and then.

She creeps in every once in awhile, during the most ordinary of moments. I'm out shopping and a girl saunters by, tossing her honeyed hair. “It's her,” my mind breathes, stunned out of my universe.

Driving into the country last weekend, wind whipping my hair, music blasting over the radio, the reverie fractures as I realize this is the road. Somewhere on the shoulder, on the other side of the yellow line, she slipped away.

The blue sky above me is endless. The blackened road before me is terminal.

I wonder if it hurts or if it all goes black.

Today I was washing dishes slowly and vacantly when I realized.

I know: she is dead.

She no longer exists.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

From Abigail:

Jenn, really nice writing ,again. I tend to come in and read your blog after longish absences and I so see development in your style. Do you see that too? Or maybe it's the different subject matter changes the style anyway.There's always something slightly edgy in your pieces that I like; something is always held back ; like the observer wants to keep something to themselves--often thats about the personality/ identity of the other person. Yet what isn't held back is quite lush and vivid which I adore. I know I've said that to you before in a manner of speaking.
Can I just remark with something trivial and may never need to be changed. I love black and red together , seriously I do. But I've gotta tell you it's quite difficult to read the tiny red print. See, I told you it was trivial.

Barnesm said...

YAH, Jennikki is posting again.

Flinthart said...

I've never had that 'moment of realisation'. For me, dead happens when they die. What comes after, for me, is... strange. But eventually, it feels as though I'm defending my memories of them, inside my head. From what? I dunno.

Not good, though.

Great writing anyhow. Lovely use of the everyday to illustrate the eternal.

jetessay.com said...

I've never loose someone really dear for me and thanks God. Though I think I can understand your sadness. Memories come in unexpected moments and open a bleeding wound. It always hurts and will hurt forever. The only thing we can do is remember happy things and believe that somewhere, somehow you'll meet again.

NaRong said...

Or maybe it's the different subject matter changes the style anyway.There's always something slightly edgy in your pieces that I like; something is always held back ; like the observer wants to keep something to themselves--often thats about the personality/ identity of the other person. Yet what isn't held back is quite lush and vivid which I adore. I know I've said that to you before in a manner of speaking



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