the grating normalcy

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I sit on the edge of a mountain, the cold, yellow sun slowly cloaking itself with the peaks.  I’m free.  It’s wide open here.  There’s no fear, no care, no worry.  I’m enough here.

I feel the wave roll over my back as I squeeze my eyes shut to the rush of sandy water.  Involuntarily I swallow a little as a smile forces the corners of my mouth open.  I’m terrified and happy.  I think of what could happen if one thing went wrong like it did once, but it’s too late now.  This is happening.

I can’t remember the last time I danced in the rain like this.  I laugh and twirl and relish the thought of sky water washing me of the cares and scars.  I wouldn’t say I’m broken, but the dancing makes me feel more whole—the way a crab is more of a crab when it has its shell.

In the back of my mind are the ones who are gone.  The two, three people who ripped a part of my heart out this year when they breathed a final breath and kissed earth goodbye.  There are thousands more, too, who I never had the privilege of meeting and will never even know are gone.  Yet the world is so different with only their ripple forever shaping history.  The world would be different without you, too.

What is important?  Dinner seems mighty important when you’re tired and hangry after a long work day.  Love makes you feel awake and alive and okay—thus you crave it relentlessly.  Doing something with your hands that’s beautiful to look at or listen to makes you feel complete and useful.  Those are important things in life.  So why is it we miss the little things most once they’re gone?  The sounds that came from the kitchen when he made coffee in the morning.  The faint, distinct smell of her shampoo when she wrapped you in a hug.  The opening song of the show you watched together every night before bed.  The car running outside while they wait for you to hurry up and get out the door.  Their favorite jacket hanging in the closet, just waiting for them to come back and put it on.

It’s not fair, life.  I cry bitter tears when I think of the people who are gone.  I cry for what could have been and what actually is.  I’ve never been good at saying goodbye.  Sometimes the tears take me back to when I was a child hiding in a giant cardboard box to cry because my summer friend went back to her mom’s house in California.  Or when I hugged my aunt goodbye the night before we left Arkansas and then went straight for the shower to silently sob while the hot water disguised the tears.  My heart likes to come out in the form of crying alone, although only heaven knows why.

The grating normalcy of the second hand ticking away seems too much to bear sometimes, especially when you miss someone or anxiety breathes down your neck.  I can’t imagine why I am here on earth, why any of us are.  We didn’t sign up for it, but we take responsibility for our existence as though we had.

In fact, I don’t even know what this post was about or what it was for, but here it is and I feel better now.  Go hug someone.