The house is quiet.
I sort the laundry
wash the dishes
change the linens
organize the closets
prepare the food
make a list
and try,
try try try
not to think.
But here I am.
Thinking.
*
Last night I had a dream.
Someone died in my dream.
Someone close enough to me that I had to mourn.
Tear my clothes.
Sit for seven days on a low stool, in a house with covered mirrors and quiet murmurs.
And in my dream,
the next year,
I made a big meal to break the fast and everyone gathered together as we lit a candle for the one who died and eulogized and comforted.
And in my dream I stood in the corner, hiding the second flame I finally lit, and my heart was full of a mourning that had a place to go, and my soul began to heal.
And when I woke up, I realized it was a dream.
I realized that tonight, when the sun goes down and it becomes that day, I will not light a candle, gather together with loved ones, prepare a meal to soothe…move closer to that final step of closure.
Tonight, when that day comes, I will lay in bed and wish I could have died today and met him somewhere, anywhere at all, and he could have told me why I am denied that simple act of mourning.
*
I sit, in the quiet house, and try not to think.
But the thoughts I am chasing away are meant to be thought today.
It is a day of mourning today.
A day of fasting.
A day when sorrow is acknowledge and accepted.
So I take a bite to eat.
And pretend today is another day.
As I fold the laundry
and hang the sheets out to dry
and try,
try try try
not to wish
that today should be the day
I die.
This was very poignant, thank you.
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This was very poignant, thank you.
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