Day 366: Juice Springsteen: Red
grapefruit juice, gin, cardamom bitters
Grief comes in
waves: cyclical in frequency and varying in intensity. At times it comes slow
and predictable, gently pushing against psychological barriers. Every once in a
while, completely unexpected, a big one comes in and hits hard.
Dahlia's best friend
came to visit and stayed with me for a week. It was equal parts rejuvenating
and draining. We talked about the good times and bad. We talked about Dahlia's
dinner parties and her sharp tongue, her chemo appointments and hospital trips.
Between the cocktail bars and the visits to pho joints, we packed up Dahlia's
clothes from the attic.
It's strange what
memories clothes evoke. Dresses, of course,
bring up memories of formal nights on the town, but I was caught far
more by surprise by the mundane. Packing up her pajamas brought back some
memories of lazy Sundays and radiation appointments. T-shirts were remembrances of trips and
TARDISes. The one piece of clothing that hit me the hardest though, was a too
large pair of denim overalls. What Da Vinci did with a paintbrush, she did with
a hammer, a power drill and those overalls. Her canvas was our house.
A couple of days
ago, I had her friends over to go through her belongings one last time before
sending them off to charity. The party didn't hit me as hard as I thought it
would. I spent most of the time filling people's hands with drinks instead of
focusing on her possessions. It was a surprising small wave.
Joan Didion
discussed, in The Year of Magical Thinking, the idea of needing to hang on to
her dead husband's clothes because he may return. Over the past year, I've had
several dreams that Dahlia returned. They've all been comforting, a respite
from the loss and grief. Somewhere, in my subconscious, there was the idea she
could still be alive. Two weeks ago, I had another dream that she returned.
While I was happy she was back, something wasn't right. For the first time, it
felt unnatural. She wasn't supposed be there. When I woke up, I was almost
relieved to wake up alone.
Maybe that's growth,
but it sure doesn't feel like it.
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