This is a very painful post for me to write; one that crept up over the years on occasion but willingly returned to its suppression box when I pushed it in.
My husband and I have been married for over 13 years. Before our marriage, we spent intense, life-altering years with a revolving group of friends who experienced traumatic moments with us, sharing our blood, sweat, and tears profoundly. Our life is full now; family, friends and evenings spent unwinding with content happiness fill the nooks and crannies of our once broken hearts. We worked hard for it, and we are proud of it. But then a tug – always suddenly – makes us yearn to dig up a long-buried life.
The week of my husband’s 35th birthday the door swung open and blew his oldest friend in with fragments almost forgotten. The initial joy of reconnecting overshadowed the caution we knew we should be holding out in front of us like a shield. We let our guard down. It burned.
As his birthday drew to a close, we sat together, just the two of us, and sewed up the hole ripped through our carefully reconstructed souls, reaffirming our place in time and letting the past settle in the dust behind us.
Still, it is grief that follows us into the present.
This is a eulogy.
To all the friends we’ve loved and lost, we remember you fondly while we walk on without you.
* * * * * * * * * *
The past blew into town, whirling around in a drunken stupor and a cloud of cannabis.
Drawn from a place of need, we reached towards it desperately.
But the past is dead.
Still, we tried.
We thought it would feel comfortable, like slipping into a pair of well-worn shoes.
It was familiar.
The chaos and uncertainty shot through our veins and almost had us hooked.
Almost.
The noose hung slack against our necks, and we were transported to that moment when the floor fell out beneath our feet, and we plummeted to our living graves.
Breathlessly, desperately, we reached out for each other and unwound our throats from ropes as soft as cotton.
We had lost our footing for a moment. We had been deceived by the sounds and smells of what we thought was our worth. We had been drawn in the colors and spaces we no longer belonged.
We stepped away and held each other in arms more secure because they shook. We stepped away and breathed the air we chose to fill around us. We stepped away and came back to a place where we are always loved and sometimes lost and never tormented. We stepped away and left the past whirling around in chaotic memory where it belongs.
Burials are painful, but we cannot leave the rotting flesh exposed for all to see.
Somewhere behind us where we won’t look back, we buried familiar faces and loyal friends. We will always mourn them. We can never get them back.
Colloquially Speaking 