Missing You
I thought I knew loss!
I thought I knew pain.
I thought I knew the hollow, aching emptiness of grief.
But your loss?
It hits me like a 2 by 4,
Over …
And over …
And over again.
It’s as if I constantly “forget” you are gone.
I live in a daze where each fresh reminder
hits again like the very first
in a rush of knowing …
in a flood of hurt
untouched and pristine in it’s cruel originality.
It’s like a craving …
The hurt gnaws deep into the pit of my chest
and it stays there
ripping and tearing
as if some alien being is trying to claw it’s way out from within.
It comes with an insurmountable need
to see you again,
to hear your voice,
to have you beside me if only for
one …
more …
day.
Just one more day.
One more day knowing and understanding in my heart of hearts
that it would only bring me “more” heartache,
as I push back the notion that it would mean losing you
all …
over …
again.
It’s not that I “need” to speak with you.
It’s not that there were words left unspoken,
(although my mind can always conger a list of things I’d love to tell you).
No, it’s not that …
I just want to see your smile.
I want to feel your warmth and hear your voice.
I want to selfishly devour the sight, sound and essence of you
so that I can somehow capture it beyond a photo or a memory
that so many others “tell” me will suffice.
I want to screeeeeam at the top of my lungs.
I want others to know that
the depth of this ache …
the force of this sorrow
will “never” be satiated by mere memories or the acceptance
that I was blessed to have simply “known you”
Oh fortunate me. Am I to be satisfied with that?
Am I to be complete and fulfilled
knowing you now rest peacefully while
I am left here on this Godforsaken planet,
never to see, hear or feel your warmth again?
Am I to be
placated by the platitudes,
soothed by the sentiments, and
appeased by the expressions of those
who believe that time will heal all ills?
Do they know that I bleed these words out in a string of hurt
that digs so deeply into this paper that little rips and gashes form
along each pen stroke that I make?
Do they know that endless tears stain and blur the edges of these words
as I try to comprehend why I am resigned
to writing them down onto this paper in the midst of this
delusional drama I find myself trapped within?
This
Cannot
Be
Real.
I tell myself you are NOT gone …
Oh, just WAIT until you find out about this ridiculous mistake.
My, how we will laugh about this together.
We WILL laugh, won’t we?
WON’T we???
Someone …
Shake me …
Tell me this is a dream …
Pinch me so I know this is “not” real …
I just want to
WAKE
UP!
Pleeeeeeeeeeease.
Go ahead and wake me up and laugh with me
BEFORE they send the white coats and straight jackets to my side.
There now.
Did I spill enough?
I feel momentarily better.
The ache is out.
Have I written enough to let loose the pain for another day?
For another night?
Did I hear you laugh with me just now?
We’ve talked about this, you and I.
High drama … from the inside out.
I just needed a good cry (but you know that).
Thank God I can still “feel”.
I miss you.
And today? This is what it feels like to miss you.
Some day I know it “will” hurt less.
But simply put?
Right now … missing you hurts like hell.