Still

I was talking on the phone the other day with a dear friend in the area. I apologized for failing to come to visit earlier that week: I had called to see if she were free, and she said she had another friend over, but I was welcome to come and join. I had declined. I confessed to her that I had been having one of those days when I just couldn't be with new people. She remarked, "I am so sorry to hear you are still having those days."

Yes, I am having those days. Still.

I know that it is impossible to know what this journey is unless you have had the misfortune to travel it. Hell, I'm in the middle of traveling it and I still don't know what it is. But it certainly isn't following the time-line I might have imagined. Well, not much has followed the time-line I imagined. I thought I'd meet my Prince Charming in my twenties, but I had to wait for my thirtieth year for my beloved Bruno to show up. I thought I'd be an actress on a Broadway stage before I left NYC, but it looks like that dream won't fulfill itself until maybe I reach my 40's or 50's or maybe my 60's even. That's OK. I practice yoga: I'll be here, ready and able when the time is right. I was sure that I'd have two children by now. Nope, not even one yet. Still...

I don't think I am still. Those days aren't the same days I had nine months ago. They aren't even the same days I had one month ago, or last week. I am not still: I am moving, I am evolving, I am battling over, under, around and through this grief which will not conform to the prescribed stages, which is neither orderly nor organized, which is impervious to reason, and has no eyes for calendars or clocks.

No, my loss will not stay still. And so neither do I.