Nashville or Bust

The trip that started a longer journey

October 25

It’s 6:05 a.m. but I’ve been awake for hours. As I tossed and turned in bed, I realized today’s date. It’s been two months since Jane’s celebration of life and three months since those first confusing, but still hopeful, days in the hospital.

So much has happened during this phase of transformation, and I have been trying to capture and hoard all of the observations, impressions and yes, messages. My journal has entries that say, “when you have a minute, make sure to write down all the details of…” Scratch notes. Headers with nothing below. Scraps. Someday I may actually complete them but for now, just the trigger of the memory is enough. And while right now, sitting here, it seems like I have the time and space to put down what I’ve drafted in my mind dozens of times, I can’t. I’m still stunned. I try, but just one word tumbles forward: “No.”

This is missing someone. This is wanting to turn back time. This is aching for others as you catch them in that sudden moment of realization and sadness. This is wishing you could fix it. Like jerking your head back when your eyes get heavy, this is a wake up moment that is unsettling, disorienting. This is a ripping apart and bringing together. This is a crack that you are trying to fill, but with what? This is growing up on the outside while nursing a tantrum on the inside. This is realizing that it is dawn and the birds aren’t singing…where did they go? This is time constantly evolving and shaping and changing E V E R Y T H I N G. This is water that you can see, hear, smell, taste and touch…but never really hold.

The air is so clear and cold in the pre-dawn. I took a moment to step out onto the patio, barefoot, and stare at the moon. Full and bright. A warm orb in a sea of black. It was good to look up and let the hot tears cool. Thinking and remembering and feeling. And then, as words do, something came to me. Not mine, but ones I came across  last summer and recently bumped into again: “Barn’s burnt down…now I can see the moon.” — Mizuta Masahide

I don’t know what it all means. I will never know what it all means. There is disquietude as well as gratitude in this space. How is it that pain and grace can rain down together this way?

~ Jacqui


October 25, 2018 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment