September 26th

It started around 10 am. The incandescent noise coming from every direction was too much for me to cope with. The throbbing in my temples started with an unwelcome but expected punctuality. It was only a Monday mid-morning and I felt tired already. My body was telling me something, sending signals that there was something wrong with me. And there still is — the headache is actually stronger now in the late afternoon.

And I understand that my body is reacting with an ache to something going in me internally — be it in my body or in my mind. There was a lot going on in both of those places over the weekend, with deep sadness and expecting the worst and plenty of anger, and a definite lack of any control over things that just happened and were. I still went on about my routine, without much happiness and no enthusiasm. Just going through the motions.

One of those motions was a trip to Jola’s grave. Tomorrow there will be the seventh anniversary of her untimely death, and I traveled there to put on some flowers and light some candles. I got angry several times traveling to a city where she has her final resting place — at some completely insignificant traffic issues along the way. It is clear now that I wasn't angry at the traffic at all. This year’s anniversary came upon differently than in previous years. I was more composed, there was less sadness and emptiness. Or so I thought…

I guess outwardly, I felt less of those emotions, but there is no escaping them. Yet. And maybe ever. And I think that might be a good thing. Will it ever be OK to accept death that takes away a loved person from this world? I know that acceptance is a part of the stages of grief that supposedly everyone has to go through in the same way. And I feel that I went through all the stages several times — drunk and then sober. My body knows my needs better than anybody and I guess it needed to tell me that being sad, especially on the anniversary of the death of a loved person, is still OK — all I need to do is to let emotions go through, and understand that on those late September days I will forever be sad.

And I don't want it any other way.



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footsteps of the Furies

footsteps of the Furies


“for they knew what sort of noise it was; they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies”. Enjoying life on the road to recovery. Observing and writing.