Waves of You

Little sweetheart, I've had a bad day. Maybe I shouldn't call it "bad". Just very very sad and hurting and longing for you terribly. I got up this morning and went to that little church I've told you about. It's good. I'm glad I go. It's very mindful. I know I use that word a lot. Maybe too much. What I mean by it is that I guess in those moments when I feel I am mindful, I'm not so distracted by unimportant or trivial things. I'm present. I can feel deeply and connected to my interior life and, often, these are the moments that I feel very close to you. But it can also make me terribly sad. Even inconsolable.

Sometimes waves of grief come over me. Did I ever tell you, little sweetheart, about how once when I was swimming in the ocean I got knocked down by a wave? It sent me all the way to the sea's floor and I hit my head and then, as I tried to get back to the surface, I kept getting knocked down and pulled under again and again. It knocked the wind out me and I was gasping for air. It probably only lasted a few seconds but it seemed like ages. I couldn't get out of it. When I finally did, no one even saw me on the shore or was worried about or even looked at me. I went through it alone. That's not the important part, but I did just remember that now, too.

Anyway, there are days like this when I get so knocked down by my grief for the loss of you, my angel, I can't do anything. I just cry for hours and hours. Often I go back to bed even in the midday, my fingers clutching the edge of your bed clothes, the ones I keep always on your pillow on your side of the bed to comfort me and remind me and to know they are there - you might need them still, maybe by some miracle you will come back!

I got knocked down so hard at church today, little sweetheart, when the choir was singing so very beautifully. They'd already done a wonderful version of Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" with the organ part and everything and then they did this lovely piece, "The Call of Wisdom" as the offertory. There was a line in it that repeated over and over: "I am here, I am with you. I have called: do you hear me?"

Oh, Summer, I cried and cried and as I heard that. The waves hit me and I hung my head, resting it on the back of the seats in front of me and just shook, gasping with sobs. Later, after the service, a nice man, Doug, who has been very kind to me before, approached me, kind of warily. He said he wanted to tell me something but he didn't know if he should. He told me that I would love again. That I should be open to that. I shook my head, little sweetheart, my eyes filled with tears and said "she" (meaning you of course)'s my girl". And I said "I just want to be with her". It's hard for people to hear that, you know? He said right back to me, "No, you don't". And I said right back to him, "yes, I do!". He went on to say that God had given me my life and that He wants me to live it. And he told me about his own father who lost his wife to cancer and eventually remarried. Remarried a woman who turned out to be his (Doug's) mother. That his father and mother had five children and that he had been the fifth of them. I think he meant well, little sweetheart. In fact I know he did. After, seeing that I wasn't exactly having an epiphany, he said "should I apologize or just walk away?". I hugged him instead.

By the time I got home I had to lie down. And that's where I spent most of the day, little sweetheart - crying and sleeping and longing for you. It's dinner time now and I'm warming up the last of the homemade chicken soup I made last week. I took a bath. I have some brownies in the oven. I remember texting you once to say that I was feeling rather sad and you asked if you could come over and bring me some chocolate. You asked if I was that kind of sad. Was I chocolate-could-make-it-better kind of sad. The truth is chocolate does make things a little bit better but what always makes a difference, what always solves anything and everything, is you.

Even when I'm so sad and shaking with grief and loneliness, the thought of you and the mindfulness that brings you as close as I can get to you for now until that day when I may be with you in Forever, it's worth it. Somehow even the pain is better than not. Never Be Ashamed to Cry for That Girl.

I'm breathing slowly and deeply as I type this, my darling. I'll try my best to try my best this week again, my little sweetheart. And I long for you to take me the second heaven will allow. I will listen. "I am here, I am with you. I have called: do you hear me?" Yes, my sweetheart. Never stop calling to me. Please. Please, never stop.