It's the lens it's all seen through, the connective glue between disparate parts. Begin your writing today with this not-so-simple sentence: grief is everywhere
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Grief is everywhere. Every moment. My constant companion.
She was there each of the 28 times I woke up on the loveseat.
I sleep there now since spiders and nightmares find me in our bed. My new bed
is too small for even my 5’1 ¾ height and so causes dangled feet to fall asleep
and my neck to cramp.
Grief escorted me off the couch at 6 AM to lay my head on
the floor. She tucked the sheet around me as I stroked the carpet where he use
to lay his head. He would fall asleep on the couch every night, and I would
transfer him to bed on a three count. But sometimes, I’d get him upright, and
his sleepy self would give me this shitty little grin and then crumple to the
floor to sleep there instead. He was so stubborn. I’d both laugh and swallow my
temper at the same time. Say, “fine, sleep there if you want.” Cover him with a
sheet and put a pillow under his head. Grief does this for me now, and she lets
me sleep for another hour.
When I woke, grief let out an exasperated sigh when I
spilled my water. She looked at me disapprovingly as I did nothing. I said fuck
it. Grief is here and she’s taking up too much room. I shot her a dirty look
and went to brush my teeth.
Grief followed. She told me to use his toothbrush, so I did.
Grief said, it’s okay. Try to curl your hair. You’re
allowed. I didn’t do a very good job.
Grief started to exhaust herself. She started talking to me
about how ridiculous Sean was that one time he got that small zit on the side
of his nose. She anticipates the two new zits that stress has brought in for
me. So by the time I got to putting on some makeup, I just dotted on some
concealer and skipped the mascara.
Grief watched me put no my biking clothes and made me pause.
She said wait. I need to imagine him seeing you. So, I walk to the bathroom and
survey myself. I run my hands over my ribs, and cup the undersides of my breasts.
I purse my lips to the side and tilt my head as well, surveying myself, and
then catch myself, but Grief beats me to it, “goat face.” She yells and laughs.
That is what Sean called that face. My check out myself face. He’d say, “you
just goated so hard.” Grief and I both swallow laughing tears.
Then I pack my lunch and Grief hands me things from the
fridge—the pre-boiled eggs I have to buy now because he used to cook my breakfast,
the yogurt because I have no cooked food, the banana because he always told me
it helped with muscle recovery, the trail mix he bought that’s about to run
out, and the water bottle that I stole from him but that he didn’t even mind me
stealing. Grief gives me each of these little leftover pieces of him to eat for
the day.
Grief hands me my keys to the garage. The keys with the
keychain of him riding his dirtbike.
Hi again grief.
Grief saddles up over the bike with me. She wraps her arms
around me as I begin to peddle the bike he so carefully researched and bought
for me. She sighs with each revolution of the wheel, because the bike fits my
small frame perfectly. She cries a bit in my ear as I ride up the big hill that
he used to have to ride up every time he left my old apartment. She shakes her
head at the way he used to fly through stop signs, while I pause. She feels the
wind in her hair as we push hard on the last block and gets frustrated when I
struggle to put his U-lock between the wheel and the frame. He made it look so
easy.
Grief scampers after me into the bathroom, eyeing me as I
put on the black skirt and shirt I wore on our last date. I put the shrug over
it that I wore to his funeral. I’m wearing all black again, she notices. I
protest that it’s a classic look. She raises and eyebrow that says, “the high
today is 98.” Whatever. I’m wearing my cowboy boots. But she reminds me of that
fight I had where I said something cruel about previous lovers and these boots
that he’d loved before that comment. She reminds me that I’m a fucking terrible
person.
She climbs into my backpack for the trek into the office. She
wishes me luck on the cubicle gauntlet I have to walk to get to the kitchen.
Gives me a thumbs up that I can smile at people and say good morning to the
person making their coffee that I’ll inevitably run into so I can put my yogurt
in the fridge.
She waits for me to return and sinks into my desk chair with
me. Unlocking my computer. And seeing the day unfold. I’ve been up for an hour
and 15 minutes. And grief hasn’t left me once.
She sits in my lap and twirls my hair during my webinar. She
plays with the stapler until I shoot her a look while I respond to emails. She rolls
her eyes when I quote a bad Adam Sandler movie. She taps her foot impatiently
for lunch to come and then looks bewildered by its boring monotony. She wants
to text him too to tell him that her banana was too mushy and that we forgot to
get half and half at the store.
Grief follows me to my meeting and doodles his name while I
get an update on our current project and glares at anyone who considers taking
a seat next to me. She hurries me out so that I don’t have to hear my coworker
talk about her engagement party.
She plods with me out to my bike. Exhilarated to be off but
with a seemingly unending succession of minutes until a reasonable person could
try to go to sleep. So we head to the gym and wish he was waiting for us there.
Already doing his bicep curls and smiling at me in the mirror as I come up
behind him to give him a quick kiss before heading into the locker room. She
looks for him as I walk out of my abs class and sighs with me as I remember.
She sneers at the couple who are on bikes next to each other and catching up on
their day.
She comes home with me to our empty apartment and looks in
the fridge. Grief tells me I can’t try to cook yet. You can try again tomorrow
she says and pulls out the brie and crackers, tells me to hurry to turn on the
TV. The silence is crushing her too. We sit next to each other on the couch,
saying nothing, doing nothing, trying so hard to be nothing. It doesn’t work.
We shower. And she rubs his soap lovingly over each lonely
corner of my body. She wraps me in our towel and helps me take the pillows from
the bed. She suggests I sleep on the couch again tonight. Reminds me of the
dreams she’ll send me if I curl up next to his ghost. I turn out the lights and
Grief kisses my forehead. It burns but at least I’m not alone.
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