Is it even possible to describe the losses of both Maila and Morgan this year and what that has done to my state of being?
As someone who does poetry and art for a living I really cannot think of a picture that I could paint for you out of words, or a parallel that I could draw to even come close to the emptiness I feel every day in this house.
Maila's nails aren't clicking on these strange tile floors. I can't hear Morgan snuffling off somewhere in search of a tasty morsel. No little snore snuffles in the middle of the night. No yawn/howls when I arrive home. No rubbing of her back into my foot over and over as she smushes her face into the couch.
My life is less now. Less beautiful. Less fun. Less meaningful/meaningless moments to be enjoyed or overlooked.
I have wicket and he is a joy. Perfect love and trust. He is a happy guy and there's something priceless about that happiness. He's also more nervous after losing the two he has looked up to his entire life. Tosh still mourns. I'll catch him wandering the house late at night with those inconsolable yowls of his. The only thing that brings them to an end is sweetly talking to him until he walks over, gets some love, and falls asleep.
We are all different for having loved and lost those girls.
Tosh is more depressed. Wicket is more anxious. Mischa is more open to wicket being affectionate. I don't shine quite so bright, I don't find myself dancing in my hallways. Remy has no animal that he snuggles with. Mom has it hit her frequently when she and Mischa come over. Gwydion feels almost lost with just one small dog to care for.
What is gone and irreparably harmed when the ones that we have promised to keep safe, die. And can we ever answer that question? Is the thing unknowable, all that is clear is its absence?
Maybe I'm ascribing an impossibility to cover for my inability to communicate the soul grinding ache of missing those two animals.
We got this house just in time to bury my loves in its soil.
I'm hanging. Doing my best. Which is sometimes woefully inadequate and sometimes is awesome and is ALWAYS exhausting no matter the results. But as long as I'm not sinking in a mire, I'm doing what I need to be doing.
That has to be enough for now.
Multiple people with medical experience thought that I was going to lose my foot. That the damage was so severe that they wouldn't be able to reconnect the necessary pieces.
That was frightening.
I'm coming down off of that roller coaster now.
I miss fishing. Going out in a boat in early morning, getting bait ready, eating fresh fruit for breakfast in silence while lines sit in the water. Catching, releasing or keeping, the excitement and laughter. Jumping into the ocean as the day gets hotter and then napping below deck to the gentle rocking and the sound of lapping waves. Sun warming your skin as you wake and you can feel the clean salt fall off of you. The traction of the deck under bare feet. The birds welcome you back at the dock. The sound of the ropes tightening. Hosing off the boat. Cleaning the fish. The smell of coconut, blood, and scales. Lemon, garlic, butter, pasta, white wine and even more laughter as dinner is consumed with people with whom you are safe, as the sun sets. The hugs goodbye, the quick shower to leave your skin soft from the buffing wind and salt and sand. Skin still warm from the sun even as the temperature drops. Falling blessedly, happily, into an uncomplicated sleep. There are times when I miss my Florida childhood. This is one of them. Good morning.
7 years. Has it been so long? So long since the event when so many of your children lost their lives, were failed, were flooded, were heartbroken, were scarred, were alone. In my memory like yesterday, and a thousand years ago at once.
7 years is a lifetime of the human body, shredding and growing anew.
7 years to learn and change, grieve and be brave, leave and resent, leave and reminisce, become complacent and remain the same. Have we done enough? Of course not. But we have danced. We have danced, and laughed, and sang, and costumed, and second lined, and drank, and died, and been born, and held together while pulling so far apart. We have loved one another and forgiven above all else. Above ego and pain we have banded together and though we are short on patience, we are long on compassion.
A sideways wind blows tonight, Grandmere. A little boy named Isaac is throwing a little tantrum, like little boys do. Pulling at your skirts and being an unreasonable pest. Rain stings against my skin as I stand out in it and looking at me you can't differentiate the tears on my face for the water falling from the sky. I have listened to the fears and shaky voices of people who have never gotten over what happened 7 years ago. The betrayal, the loss. Not of things but of a sense of safety.
Wind whirls and spins and shrieks outside of my home. Sirens fill the air as your children feast on one another. It all sounds like the mournful, panicked wailing of a lost woman and I lay here in the darkness, holding you close to me on this anniversary. Loving you madly, with an irrational loyalty, in completion.
New Orleanians, I love you. New Orleans, I love you.
My birthday is coming up and I've been given some monies to buy things for myself.
This happens when the man in your life is working 157 hours in a two week period.
He says, "I love you, please find things you like because I'm already asleep while we're having this conversation."
So, peoples, I'll be looking over etsy on my own but please give me your recommendations. Who are your favorite sellers? What things catch your eye? I want to support actual artists with what little money I have. So yeah. Gimme!