Vivid Dreams

Vivid dreams turn into nightmares when I wake
Into a world where everything I’ve ever known is gone
Lost, gasping for that familiar air
I try to close my eyes again because a moment ago you were there
So real, I swear I heard your voice again
Calling me to come to you, letting me know you’re alright
I see your smile, it spreads to your eyes in a way only yours could do
But how could it be? I guess what I’m seeing isn’t really you
I slowly sit up, realizing my hopes have taken over my sleep
While tears stream quickly down my face, the hurt and pain runs deep
I can’t go on, or so it seems
It’s like living inside of a shell
Just a blank stare and a forced smile to hide what I’m really feeling
I’m in this box, I can’t get out, closed in by the walls and ceiling
Suffocating gently, though it’s better than the alternative - facing my new reality
So I’ll just stay here a while longer, praying that, tonight, you’ll come back to visit me

Make a Wish

Today should have been a day of celebration. It should have been a day of sugar-free cake and wrapped presents that would eventually reveal Yankees apparel and memorabilia, barbecue tools and New York Giants tee shirts.

But, instead, today is sad.

Today, my Dad would have been 57. Still young. Still vibrant. Still yearning to experience everything that life has to offer.

Today, I'd give anything to be able to wish him a happy birthday. To be scouring the stores for the Yankees shirt he didn't already own. To have him mad at all of us for even making a big deal about the fact that he was a year older.

Yes, 57 years ago, today, an incredible man was born. A man that I miss every day. But especially today.

I keep hearing it gets easier. I know this has to be true but, for now, I can't think about celebrating his life when I'm still grieving the loss of it.

I do feel fortunate to have spent my Dad's last birthday with him but, now, I feel like I should have done more. Not that I could have known, but if I had, I would have done more, given more. More love. More time. More life. Things we probably don't wish for when blowing out those candles but the things that suddenly become so important when we lose someone we love. Things that are important to me now.

"No one ever told me..."

I'm struggling today. I have been. And, for some reason, in this time of struggle, I haven't been able to write. I have been reading a lot, though. So instead of using my own thoughts, I'm going to borrow the thoughts of someone else.

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.

Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me . . .

An odd by-product of my loss is that I’m afraid of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t . . .

And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness . . ."

C. S. Lewis, from A Grief Observed