Walking on the path beside the river, I hear myriad bird calls and the breathing movement of weather in the trees. I pause to appreciate a moment. Then, I am almost bowled over, taken out, left cringing and unable to move. I feel like a train has hit me. Am I on the ground or still standing ? It is hard to tell, for consciousness swirls around me, daring me to pass out or call out.
I know what this is.
It follows me round, lurking and preparing to pounce of I get too comfortable or if I smile too readily. It is an inhuman thing, this angry terror that prepared to attack any sign of vulnerability brought into presence by memory. This dark demon dances around me, moving seductively, beckoning engagement. He lures with promises of remembered delights, only to snatch them greedily away, scoffing at my naivety and finding designer salt for my wounds.
The seduction is painstakingly planned. Days of significance, anniversaries, birthdays, celebrations, sorrows – they all form a calendar and game plan for torture and torment. The tsunami overwhelms me momentarily. The easing of anxiety permits a breath or two before the life is sucked out again and life reverts to slow motion.
Welcome to the life of awake death. This is widowhood.
I have regular phone calls with friends. A dear friend mérite mr for breakfast and a walk each week. Other friends call me and check in. They sustain me and I am grateful for their sensitivity and gentilness. At the same time, I long to disappear from their view and simply curl up nd sib myself to oblivion. The problem is – if I give in to the darkness, is it possible to come back ? Perhaps my soul will get swallowed into Job’s big fish ? Choice has hidden herself. The only realistic path is to dress to impress and try to outrun the evangelical judgment.
Have mercy on me.
The memories pursue me in a thick band, surrounding me and choking off light and air. I can feel my heart trying to out-thump the chorus of voices. I can hear chorus’s upon chorus of platitudes.
