Remembering Patty

It has been six months since Patty died. Her death seems so recent and yet, so distant. These past six months feel like forever and yesterday. The static in the contradiction is irresolvable and makes my heart wonder whether she really died. And that little bit of doubt, that little bit of not knowing what I know, soothes my frazzled brain.

Still I don’t understand, so maybe she didn’t die. Maybe everything that happened over the last 20 years didn’t really happen. Maybe there were fewer bad choices, disasters, accidents, hospitalizations. Maybe she was able to heal instead of scar. Maybe her grasping hands once caught hold. Maybe I held her hands, more tightly, and she didn't fall. Maybe we pulled her out of the quicksand. Maybe it’s not too late.

All these maybe’s are just as real to me as all the no’s. Except I know they didn’t happen. Things went other ways. Otherwise.

By now I thought I’d be less a novice at grieving. Mostly I feel the same sadness and relief as I did 6 months ago. But now, I feel less anger. Almost no rage. Sad is bigger and fills the whole sky low and gray like clouds. Relief is the sun burning through the sad – localized, yes - but so strong, so bright, it blinds me against the sad. Relief is almost hot. Relief is stronger and relief will grow into something positive, something that isn’t a vacuum.

Then I see a picture and I weep. And I can’t understand how she could do that to herself.