am i meant to miss you for the rest of my life?
your absence brings relief & that relief brings sadness, thick & liquid in the bottom of my chest, right above my diaphragm. where my little girl used to sleep, now a pool ebbs & flows. i have been sitting at its bank & writing in a journal––actually writing, no washi tape or paint swatches to ease the intensity––until my hand cramps too badly to keep going. i have been wading up to my ankles & standing there for hours, exposing myself to the sensation of water against skin, teaching my body that this, too, does not have to mean a death. the waters are finally still for the first time in a year & a half. i can walk along the shoreline because there is finally a shoreline, not floodwaters churning from too much rain. it has been two weeks now & i no longer wake up drenched & soaking. i have never loved the ocean, but i have missed my Maker so much. i am still frightened of what He might demand, but the walls i built as dams are no longer necessary for survival. the water is beautiful in its stillness; i fear the wind's return. where is the map of the tides? where are the blueprints for that boat we tried to build? i love you. i miss you. but i am so, so tired of being afraid. so what do i do with this? what do we do?