Sunday 11 March 2018

Grief doesn't have an Instagram filter. Sorry.

This is what real life is like sometimes. Am I supposed to apologize for it? Move on if you don't like it.
I don't belong here
I gotta move on dear
Escape from this afterlife
'Cause this time I'm right
To move on and on
Far away from here
We got to church exceedingly early, me carpooling with Sam, his favourite assistant on a day that sees everyone else magically busy. It's cold inside and nothing is ready so he drops his coat on the pew, not even taking the time to open his office and rushes off to prepare. He tells me to stay put (wonder where he gets that from) and then I can't hear whatever else he says. I don't wear my hearing aids in the hole. It's easier to keep everything muted, underwater, unintelligible.

I take his coat and pull it over me like a blanket, lying down. I close my eyes and then I hear him yell my name, alarmed, clear as day. I bolt upright and his face relaxes instantly.

I thought you left.

No, just tired.

Here. Drink this. He puts a hot cup of coffee in my hands, wrapping them around the cup for warmth. The heat should spool up now. It'll be fine in a few minutes.
Got nothing against you
And surely I'll miss you
I can't turn my brain off and so I close my eyes and the cup wobbles dangerously. Sam stares at me, his concern boring right through my face, infiltrating my brain. I don't want him in there, it's not a day for this, I don't want the memory thief taking all that I have left.

Instead he just walks around, closing doors, opening the blinds to let in the sun while he gently speaks but a born orator, he can throw his voice so I hear him perfectly. As long as I concentrate.

His words are a life raft in a sea of unwelcome waves, safety in the face of danger, and I won't even tell you what they are. He moves his coat to wrap it around my shoulders and then sits down beside me. Then he jumps back up and walks out quickly but is back in an instant, his own cup of coffee in hand. He puts an arm around me and I rest my head on his shoulder.

Sometimes I really miss him, Sam. Tears squeeze out of my eyes, fall off my chin, landing in my cup.

Me, too. He wraps his arm around me tighter still, kissing the top of my head. I didn't think we'd be left here but here we are.
This place full of peace and light
And I'd hope you might
Take me back inside when the time is right