The volume of silence

IMG_0844The silence speaks for me these days. Dear son, I don’t know what to say anymore. Tomorrow is your sister’s birthday. Tough birthday in so many ways. She will have reached her 29th year.
The anniversary of the day you left us, my birthday, now your sister’s birthday color the end of summer. I write things down to say to get out of my head but they sit here on the computer and I leave them because they are dark and unhappy words.
Your death is too real for me. I question so much about life. If anything it makes less sense to me the older I get. Perhaps those experiencing this alongside me also struggle with how to explain it or get a grip on these things. We certainly don’t talk about it much it seems.
Sometimes I wonder if everyone is just pretending. I wonder if they go home and take off their mask like I do? Are their evenings something they too endure? Do they go to sleep in tears?
When we learned of Robin William’s death, Facebook was filled with people making statements about him. We were shocked because we confused his public persona with who the man really was. His private struggles were hidden neatly from view. I know no one who did not know something of him and his body of work. Yet we were offended that the public image did not fit the reality. We are nothing without our illusions it seems.
I wanted and needed more time with you. Yes your influence continues and we talk about you still speculating how you might feel about certain situations. We are stuck attributing the opinions of your 29 year old self on the days that have since passed, and we only knew some of those opinions. The private side of you was private indeed.
I miss the physical you beside me, invading my space and draping yourself over me. I miss your voice and your laughter. I miss that exasperated look you give me when I wander off on a tangent. I am left without anyone to rein me in. Anger is a cycle that has grown in me. I have so little patience.
Yet things are changing in other places with other people. My involvement is to be support, encouragement or to be the warm body so that they are not alone. Some days I do a better job than others. I can’t really speculate on what you would think about any of this.
Perhaps you would tell me I am wasting my time even writing this.
But I know you knew how much I love you. I know that if I know nothing at all.
And if love truly covers a multitude of sin then I will tuck it tight around me for another day. I need the coverage, but I’m afraid I’m a little bit frayed at the edges.

About pathfinder

Artist, Writer, Walking wounded.
This entry was posted in anger, Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Holidays and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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