The Door and the Window

When I first learned how to cry for those who went before me I learned it from the best. My Irish family, my German family, my imbibing family. They showed me, and they insisted, that I grieve loudly and longly. To each of them I am forever indebted.

Thankfully there were many years in between the important losses. Many years when I got to be earthbound with the ones I love. But last week when my brother crossed that thin veil-between to the side without carbon forms, I found I was no longer in touch with the freedom of my tears. I had learned that my grief might cause discomfort in people around me. With adult focus I understood that perhaps everyone doesn’t agree that embracing sad is the only way to happy. Minding my manners, I found the loudness of my love happening only in the silence of my aloneness.

Then, as the universe is wont to do, a gift appeared on my doorstep. In modern times, that means my text messages. A dear friend whose circumstances – coupled with mine – got in the way of us always finding time, was suddenly there. Our love was shared through the energy of our voices over the phone, and that “it feels like just yesterday” reality bridged the decade between our conversations. I knew she had never been gone from my heart or my mind. And in the midst of the reason for the call, the catching up, and the “Oh My God I have missed you” moments, I also got to share my so-sad sibling loss with real tears and loud sobs.
And then the smiles got to come and I know they are here for the duration. It is no doubt the gift we have just received from the seeming mix-up that put us both in the bottom of the blender again at the same time.

And this time I will not let go.

Good bye Bob. Hello Tom and Denise. Thanks for trading placesf or this little time I have available to hug you with real arms.

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