I have thought recently about throwing a glass on the kitchen floor to hear it shatter. This might be a closer representation of pain than the tap tap tapping of my computer keys.
I have thought recently that you did not “die” but “were killed.” I think I’ve come across this distinction because one might die when one expires, at an old age. You were taken…killed.
I have had recently, an anxiety dream I suppose…in which I was backstage trying to remember the words and chords to the songs I was about to get up and sing for some reason among your musician peers. I couldn’t remember a word or a song, and worse, my guitar was completely out of tune, and try as I might, I couldn’t do much about it. I was thinking…if only you were here…you always tuned my guitar. If only you were here…
I have thought recently that living, going through the motions of life while grieving, is kind of like hearing that ringing in your ears that you sometimes tune into and wonder if anyone else can hear…all the time.
Last night I found Audrey in our room looking at the photo from your casket which I had newly placed on your night stand. She was quietly saying, “There’s appa’s eyes, and there’s appa’s hair, and there’s appa’s cheeks, and there’s appa’s mouth…and there’s appa’s nose…”
When I opened up your cello to water it yesterday, I found one of the strings was broken.