Time to Live Again

Life attempts to stretch me in different dimensions. The growing pains that I endure at the merciless hand of grief. I’m sick of it. But it won’t rid itself of me. We engage in a rhythmless two-step in which neither of us desires to engage. This whole damn thing is an endless battle – a tug-o-war, and some days I desire to release my grip. I want no part of its offerings. I want what was before its inevitable intrusion. Trivial negativity and curt comments. The stench of tension undergirding customary pleasantries. The predictability of daily rhythm and the boredom of monotony. But that’s not possible because life is far from certain now.

I suppose life never really was certain. But it felt safe and sure when they were all here. I could count the hour of day by each of their gestures. An early morning text from Kenny while fastening my seatbelt as I pulled out the driveway for work signaled it was 6:30 a.m. A not so random call between 11:00 a.m. and Noon meant Mom and Dad were going for a ride and I need not worry. The end of my workday was always greeted by Mom’s jovial welcome when she answered my daily call around 4:30 p.m.; “You on your way home or you headed this way?”

I can never go back. I have to press forward. But where in the heavens is that? I’m tired. Wounded and hurting. My pillowcase is now a pallet of tears. “Get up child before you catch a cold.” I hear you Momma. She never wanted us to fall asleep with a wet head for fear of getting sick. I answered her, “Just five more minutes.” Thinking the seconds that tick within those minutes will somehow wash away my pain, miraculously dry my damp head, and make everything alright.

Everything is now a battle. I search for relief but answers elude me. No matter where I look, I no longer see myself. Best thing I know to do is look up and within. They’re all bound to be staring back at me, reaching for the empty parts they once filled, whispering, “It’s time to live again.”