The Weight of Wonder

I haven’t written in a while. I guess it’s partly because what they say is true. With time, grief becomes easier to carry. It becomes more like a familiar companion than a tormentor. And I guess when things are easier there’s less to be fired up about so I haven’t been as inspired to write. But tonight the moon is so bright that it doesn’t really seem like nighttime and I’m here, awake, wondering.

What would he look like?

Now that winter is at a safe distance and vitamin D levels are on the rise it feels a little more possible to make plans. Last summer we were in survival mode but this summer can be something different. I think I can imagine making it through an entire wedding or social event without being crushed by the loneliness of being surrounded by so many happy people.

But what would he sound like? What would make him laugh?

I’m less anxious about going to malls and parks and dodging the minefield of strollers and Baby Bjorns. I don’t think I’m likely to weep at the sound of a newborn’s cry anymore. I’m slightly less upset by pregnancy announcements and the sight of a pregnant woman doesn’t bother me much anymore.

But what would he feel like to hold now?

It’s true that I don’t cry as often anymore and that life’s routines are basically the same as they were a year ago (a fact which is difficult to consider. Time = black hole). It’s so easy to get caught up in those routines and before you know it the date on the calendar shocks you. I miss Odin every day but I feel like I’m doing alright.

But what would he call me?

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