The above phrase is taken from one of my favorite poems, Sestina, by Elizabeth Bishop. One of the reasons I love it is because it describes a scene of some unnameable sadness - one that is continually present but goes unmentioned among the everyday tasks that make up our days. Anyway, that's how I'm feeling at the moment. Today is my dad's yahrzeit - it's already four years, which is sort of unreal. There's not a lot I can say about the emptiness that I haven't said before. I just can't believe that it's been four years and three days since I last spoke to him. The last conversation was when he called me to tell me to be careful coming home from work in the snow. I wish I hadn't made it home. I wish I'd never had to go through the next three days and four years.
When does this get easier?
As an added bonus, the equinoctial tears that I'm holding back today represent the exactly six month distance between today and September 11.
Given the pain of today, given the knowing that a very similar, scary emotional context awaits exactly six months from now, cycling on and on and circling back for all of the years going forwrd, I'm fascinated by this sort of calendrical balance and the balancing act I've undertaken to try to get through them.
These two dark, still incomprehensible days stand as perfectly poised and equidistant as dancers who mirror one another's movements but never touch. And between them there is the same chasm of time, endlessly full of that same unnameable sadness.
Really, nothing else to say today. It's just been a sad, sick, horrible week, full of tragedies that I don't even have the words to talk about. I know those things should give me some perspective on today, but unfortunately the flawed and sad human being I am is winning out over the spiritually evolved one I hope to be someday.
I had originally intended to end this with some sort of blessing, but honestly, I just don't have the stomach for it.
Posts
