Distant memories
Form constellations of despair
Guiding through the state of disrepair
Illuminate
All the hurts that have accrued
Unlock the cage, holding back the truth
Oh, wonderful. Pallbearer puts out a new album (their fourth) this morning and I can absolutely tread water in my misery with it. It's stunningly beautiful, slow and mega-heavy with gorgeous, sophisticated lyrics and memorable albeit slightly softened hooks. It's not overproduced but it's no sophomore effort either, in fact, it's exactly what I needed, and the singing is all clean so I can join in if I like.
It's perfect for standing just under the eave of the roof by the patio doors while the rain pours down just out of reach, headphone cord snaking down the hall behind me. A hazard if you come too close. A tether, if you stop to consider.
I should be planning a fiftieth birthday party. I should be getting ready for Halloween. I should be happier right now and not weighed down by this terrible past. I should be a lot of things I am not.
And I should not be a lot of the things that I am.
I should learn some voodoo, some kind of resurrection science or afterlife technology, some way to conjure him home in a more tangible form. I want to see him wet from the rain. I want to see him age. I want to see him bond with the others in a way he never truly did and I want him to see the children, not children anymore but beautiful adults, one who looks exactly like Lochlan with her slight graceful form, angular features, fierce personality and long wavy red hair, and one who looks like him, but also me, somehow, with his ridiculously tall and lanky form, his beautiful blonde hair that won't behave no matter what and his focused, gentle demeanor.
I want to shove Henry over to him and yell at Jake that he was yours after all and you checked out and guess what? We raised him without you and it turns out we didn't need you after all. We wanted you, though. I wanted you. I've decided that this is the final birthday of yours that I'm going to mark. You're going to stop growing old right here. I will fight my way through the next two weeks like a prize and then I'm done. Finally. Because I can't wish for you. You're not coming back, there is no point to any of this anymore.