Day 1,426

In 2017 I remember being beyond excited to get to moments like this.
Sunday.
Sun rising.
The perfect fluff on the pillows behind me from a night of mushing and flipping them all over.
That early morning stillness draped across the house.
The sound of Ajs little snores. One of my cherished nosies in the world!
In the room at my aunts house I would lay in my giant bed, under my blanket, and watch either birds dash pass the widows or the seasons change.
Those windows.
Something about them feels like a melancholy sonnet.
It was in Batavia I learned to appreciate snow and the sweet wonder behind it.
I love the way the world felt like pure magic as poofs fell or even heavy summer droplets blowing through.

There was always something about that house.
I felt safe.
Protected.
Hidden.
The widows were big and open yet my aunt created her own oasis.
Let me go back.
It was safe.
I also felt trapped then.
The dichotomy of hindsight is so annoying as I age.

Looking around my own room this morning I see so much of her in my life.
Small pieces collected or items made to console my quiet grief.
With Dave at three months I began speaking, with Nick almost immediately, I remember Cameron and Jeff, I even speak of losing the living but with my aunt I’m not sure I have processed.
Not sure I know how too.
I know I think her often.
The sound of Tucker’s nails in the hard wood floor and her obligatory morning grumble as she’d wobble towards the coffee machine.
She was not a morning person.
Sometimes I hear her crunchy morning voice in slight fear as she’d peak around the corner “You’re awake. Again. It’s early. Gotta pee. You should sleep. Bye.”

Missing her still stings.
The loss of any loved one hurts but the complexities of losing a “parent” takes even my breath away.
I say that being a woman who has lost some in my life that seem unfathomable.
I think it’s important to distinguish for me.
When the pain of a loss hurts more than another it does not diminish or negate the love you hold.
Crying harder about a tv show or song than talking about that person isn’t wrong.
Wanting to talk about that person isn’t wrong.
If it’s too much to talk about it that isn’t wrong.
Needing time to grieve even years out is not wrong.

Energy is ever flowing.
May we all realize that we have not lost but reformed the way we move through our lives.
What can we learn from the loss?
Can we help others?
Are their small ways to keep their memory alive?
My aunt held my hand while I process through widowhood.
Part of me still feels her hand when the loss of her gets too much.

Your grief is honest and raw.
My grief is authentically bloodied as well.
Piece by piece we’ll all find our way.