Searching. I'm searching for the right words for this wrong situation. I don't know whether to go right or left when everything is upside down and I'm not there. I'm not beside you like friends should be in times like these. But we're older now. Our driver's licenses boast different states. We don't share the same type of skies anymore.. I wear a sweater on the same day you wear a T-Shirt. We have as many miles between us as we have memories, inside jokes, life lessons we've learned together. Shared together.
But we aren't together right now. Not in person. I can't hold your pain on my shoulders, as much as I want to lean my shoulder next to yours and sit together. Just us three, in one quiet trio:
Me, and You, and Grief.
Sit. I'll sit. I'm going to stop searching and looking because I'm not finding the right words and you aren't finding you and what is lost is lost and it can't be found and WHY CAN'T IT BE FOUND? Why can't we erase this day? Why can't we go back to yesterday when we didn't know what we didn't know?
The worse kind of loss is the unexpected kind. The abrupt kind. It's raw and wet and snot and heaving and sobbing. The loss makes itself known in every sense of your being. Bile in your throat. Punch in your gut. Ache in your heart.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say.
So I'll sit here. I'll sit here on the floor.
I'll sit on the floor and I'll cry these wet tears, watch them streak down my face and onto the floor near my pink pedicured-toes. This fresh polish remind me of yesterday's biggest problem: naked nails and dry skin and weird feet. I wiggle my toes and snort at how silly scaly heels seem now.
Today, I am reminded of what real problems look like. Real problems look like loss and hurt and grief over a baby you've never met in person but loved. Your heart was connected to that baby inside, a string tugging from your chest to your belly. The world didn't get to meet this baby, but you did. God did.
I'll pretend my tears can flow in the river out west towards you. I know you are crying, too, though your tears are made of an entirely different kind of sadness. The kind of sadness that only you can own. Because this happened to you, not me, and I wish right now that we could exchange places.
Sit. I'll sit here and I will write and I will pray and I will wait. We will wait for time to heal as it does, though "Time heals" is probably the last thing you want to hear right now. We don't need to trust time today. We don't need to figure any of it out today.
Let's just sit.
I won't have the right things to say since all of the right words about loss are lost.
I promise I'll listen until the miles melt away and the tears start to dry and the right words stay hidden with the understanding.
Sit. I'm just going to sit. Right here. Right now.