Feb 2014
Isn't is supposed to rain when a funeral is going on? Buckets and buckets of rain drenching everyone, covering up the tears of people who just want to fall like the rain is. It's supposed to rain "cats and dogs". Not literally, that might make people laugh and no laughing at funerals right? The sky, dark and gloomy, like our hearts feel. The ground, being refreshed with rain, hopefully watering the flowers beside her grave. All those cliches that you hear about in English class. That's what a funeral day is like.
It's not waking up to the first warm day of the year. The sun shining and birds singing. Actually singing, and you can just feel the kids. "Mommy, can we go to the park". I can see the couples, hand in hand and a picnic basket at the side.
And I wake and all I want to do is cry and cry and cry. But I'm so numb. And anyways, how can you cry on a day like this. If you were here, you'd force me up early. I'd rush to get dressed and we'd go to the park, and have a picnic and laugh and maybe we'd cry, but it would only be because our sides hurt so much from living.
Living. That's what we should be doing. Both of us, you and I. But you can't, stuck somewhere, can you even see the clouds? Do you hear the birds? Can you smell the sun? Because that's you. Because of course god knows that this is your day, that this is what you would want. Can you run there? Can you live there?
Living. That's what we should be doing. But a piece of me died with you and my heart is screaming at me and I just want to curse at the birds and yell at the kids and I can't. Because you're here and you're whispering in my ear and you're telling me to grab my book and go outside. And you're reprimanding me for feeling down and telling me that I'd better go frolic in the meadows and I'm laughing because only you could get away with saying things like that and not sounding ridiculous.
"Don't go to my funeral.", you taunt. "I'm not there. I'm beside the carrots in the garden that we planted. I'm the stone on the sidewalk, and the girl throwing bread to the ducks at the park. I'm pulling you out, out, out of your shell and into the world. And I'll be ****** if I let us both die."
On the day that she died, the sky was blue and white, covered in clouds. It was her favorite day and I know that she is snickering where ever she is. On the day that she died, I allowed her to come alive again and I did all the things that used to be ours. On the day she died, she still lived and I saw her in the sunlight, and the laughter and the living.
It's not waking up to the first warm day of the year. The sun shining and birds singing. Actually singing, and you can just feel the kids. "Mommy, can we go to the park". I can see the couples, hand in hand and a picnic basket at the side.
And I wake and all I want to do is cry and cry and cry. But I'm so numb. And anyways, how can you cry on a day like this. If you were here, you'd force me up early. I'd rush to get dressed and we'd go to the park, and have a picnic and laugh and maybe we'd cry, but it would only be because our sides hurt so much from living.
Living. That's what we should be doing. Both of us, you and I. But you can't, stuck somewhere, can you even see the clouds? Do you hear the birds? Can you smell the sun? Because that's you. Because of course god knows that this is your day, that this is what you would want. Can you run there? Can you live there?
Living. That's what we should be doing. But a piece of me died with you and my heart is screaming at me and I just want to curse at the birds and yell at the kids and I can't. Because you're here and you're whispering in my ear and you're telling me to grab my book and go outside. And you're reprimanding me for feeling down and telling me that I'd better go frolic in the meadows and I'm laughing because only you could get away with saying things like that and not sounding ridiculous.
"Don't go to my funeral.", you taunt. "I'm not there. I'm beside the carrots in the garden that we planted. I'm the stone on the sidewalk, and the girl throwing bread to the ducks at the park. I'm pulling you out, out, out of your shell and into the world. And I'll be ****** if I let us both die."
On the day that she died, the sky was blue and white, covered in clouds. It was her favorite day and I know that she is snickering where ever she is. On the day that she died, I allowed her to come alive again and I did all the things that used to be ours. On the day she died, she still lived and I saw her in the sunlight, and the laughter and the living.
