Seasons of grief: Autumn
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The shock and weight of first loss. Grief begins in rupture. Time stops, then loops. The body braces against a truth it can’t yet hold, and even ordinary days—Halloween, autumn air—become unbearable reminders.
the most wretched fucking month
i dig my fingers into my collarbone
trying to hold on --
to myself, to earth, to the day, to air
but it’s the middle of November
and this wretched fucking month
is right before the most wretched fucking month
and she’s going to die
and she already died
and it’s going to keep happening
over and over and over again
and it’s like vomit rising in my throat all day long
and now i must stop —
because the bruising is too deep
and other people don't understand.
i feel a little better,
talking about these wretched fucking months
even though my hands are still bleeding
and my bones are sore
it’s just this time of year
when everything seems to be taunting me
or warning me
or consoling me
because she’s going to die
and she’s already dead
and i can’t do a damn thing about it
autumn and her many moods
i’m not ready for her to die again
as the sun starts to sink lower in the slanted sky,
my soul clings to summertime
but once i catch that scent of fall (one cool gulp is all it takes),
i know it’s over
december will be here soon
and my memories will shift into higher resolution
i know it’s over like it’s always been over
(and always was)
she was never staying long in this world –
it’s a kind of truth that only your bones can understand
but this brittle autumn air always chokes me with its taunting anticipation
it’s like standing at the edge of a windy cliff,
waiting to get pushed off
i would much rather already be in flight
or wrecked in a million pieces on the ground
all hallows’ eve
it still comes out of nowhere–
the realization that she has died
attacks me from behind (and from the front and sideways, too).
we were trick or treating tonight,
and i knew the house was coming up
(like i could ever forget it’s there):
honan’s funeral home, in the middle of main street.
but it really struck me, with a mouthful of kitkats,
and surrounded by elsa, buzz lightyear, and thor
that she was actually IN that home!
she was actually THERE!
and suddenly i felt like i should be, too.
like maybe if i went inside i could smell her or see her again,
or sense her, somehow…
it was hard to keep trick or treating after that,
i kept looking over my shoulder,
thinking i should turn around.
but there were so many other houses to visit
and so many little ghosts
that kept pushing me along.
As we turn over the calendar page, in what season of grief do you find yourself?