Getting Closer
Go on, the voices say, part the veil.
Not with your hands. Hands will onlytangle the hours like a net. Get closer.
So you can part the veil with your breath.The world keeps moving in on itself. It's
what it does. Cobwebs. Opinions. Moss.Worries. Dirt. Leaves. History. Go on. Put
them down and get real close. Open yourmouth and inhale all the way to the begin-
ning, which lives within us, not behind us.Then wait. When something ordinary starts
to glow, life is opening. When the light off the river paints the roots of an old willow
just as you pass, the world is telling you tostop running. Forget what it means, just
stop running. When the moon makes youfinger the wet grass, the veil is parting.
When the knot you carry is loosened,the veil is parting. When you can't help
but say yes to all that is waiting, the veilis parting.
One year. To think that a year ago I held my baby in my arms and said hello for the first time. Said goodbye for the first time. 365 days. Some days much longer than others. Not all days have 24 hours with it's minutes equally distributed throughout the day. Because some days have hours and minutes that last an eternity. Minutes that never end. The moment my baby took his last breath is still not over. Not to me and not ever. And so parallel moments pass by. Realities that run side by side. There I am working. There I am on vacation. There I am walking my dog. All the while still residing in the moment when I held my baby boy. Both happening at the same time side by side. I wake up. I grieve. I brush my teeth. I remember. I brew coffee. I cry. I get through my work day. I daydream about how big he would be. I go out to dinner with friends. I zone out and miss him. I get ready for bed. I grieve. Side by side. Living both at the same time and so I am always caught off guard when people tell me I am doing so well. Why, yes, I am. I am also really not doing well. That is also true. Both are real and are happening side by side.
The anniversary of Mateo's death fell 2 days after Thanksgiving. It didn't seem fair to ask me to have thankful heart around this time. But nothing about this has been fair. Fair was never an option. And so I went to New York and spent time with my best friend. The same best friend who a year prior had jumped on the first flight available to Vermont to be by my side. Here I was by her side, in her home, eating Thanksgiving dinner. A year later. No baby. But still grateful for her. She and another friend bought Mateo the most beautiful flower arrangement I have ever seen. My friends in Orlando visited Mateo's grave and decorated it and took a moment to honor him. Even at a time when gratitude seems like the last emotion to have room for, it is truly what I felt towards my friends. Thank You all for honoring his memory. Thank you for the calls and the text messages. Thank you to my friend who got him a birthday balloon. Thank You for loving me and loving him <3
They say year two is the hardest. Because the shock has worn off and the sharp edges around your pain have dulled and so all you have left is a raw ache. It is hard to imagine a year harder then this one. I can see how it will be in some ways but in other ways managing gets easier. I hope at some point I learn to not resent this pain, and having to manage it like a terminal illness but rather embrace it. Move with it instead of running into it. I am not looking forward to another year of milestones and holidays. More due dates, and birthdays, and mother's day and babies his age doing the things I'll never witness. Again. Another year. 365 days with unevenly distributed minutes. Time that runs side by side with what is, was, could've and never will be.
