The scraping of a knife on wood

There are times I can sit back and wonder HOW it is that I can feel so…”normal.”

But then there’s still some “guilt” there, in THOSE times. Not the crippling guilt or whatever, but the guilt I feel, because I’m ME, and it’s part of who/how/whatever I am. For whatever sense that makes.

There’s the times I stand in the kitchen, looking out the window–while something’s heating in the microwave, or I’m starting something in a pan/skillet for a meal, or whatever–and I see the wooden flowerboxes of green weeds along the patio wall, or the remnants of roses in the plastic arch, or the green weedery of what was once a raised bed tomato patch. And it’s like…how can I feel so “normal” when he’s not here anymore?

And why does my mind seem to–more than not–go to that time he was in the chandelier room when I went upstairs from work. Him just relaxing, the dog hanging around, and me getting off work. “Hey, Dad…” getting his attention. Seeing his face light up with a moment of almost-surprise greeting me “Hey, Walt!” cuz he didn’t realize the time or that I’d be up quite yet.

Seeing a photo, and NOT having that feeling of a sudden crater in the gut.

And in general, AT TIMES, being able to have that sense–ALMOST–of what’s been said at Griefshare about the “historical” memory of a person. Where it’s no longer just grief or loss or whatever, but the memories and yes, this person was there, and lived, and was a part of one’s life for so very much of it, but it’s not that early stuff of loss.

But then…NOW…as I’m typing this, having gotten the “usual” feeling of breath catching, of that feeling through the torso, the sniffles and the eyes welling up and the tears spilling over…I realize that NOPE…I’m NOT there yet.

And I don’t know what I’m doing with that. Is the hurt still the loss, or is it the ABSENCE?

Is this “just” one of those “waves” they talk about–that grief comes in waves, and while they’re not the huge crushing ones coming back to back to back, but smaller ones that are always going to be there?

And further in typing this…is it the growing realization that we’re just a week away from Fathers’ Day? And part of me is already “feeling” that and trying to prepare?

Plenty of other thoughts and such contributing, but not stuff for this blog…just “of the day” and such.

---

Mom got to the end of “This is Us” on her run through the show…I’d asked her to let me know when she got to the last couple episodes, and timing worked out to watch them WITH her.

I’m sure THAT also contributes to some of “the feels” I’ve got tonight.

A character says “The way I see it, if something makes you sad when it ends, it must have been pretty wonderful when it was happening.”

True.

And in a flashback to a childhood moment, another character explains perfect targeting for “pin the tail on the donkey” while blindfolded… “As long as I know where you are, I know where I’m going.”

And there were other moments.

And as much as the finale hit me the first time through, it still hit hard this time through.

---

Stephen King’s Jake Epping has a line in “11/22/63”: “I’ve never been what you’d call a crying man.”

While I’ve always “felt” stuff deeply…I would’ve claimed that line for myself in a lot of the past.

But these past almost-18-months?

Can’t even try to claim that.

---

So…rambling’s done for now.

And it’s that line from that poem, of Tanis to Flint…recounting where he is and where he’s been and all that…that even as he sits, alone, he still hears that scraping of a knife on wood.