So my two day dark-fest, mourning more than one loss, is waning. The brain is a tricky thing. Triggers find themselves in the strangest places. Dad's card, Lorraine's obituary and Jekonni's picture and his angel, finding themselves in the and out of the same box. The box I thought I'd forgotten about. Though, I can never forget them, those angels in plain sight, who left missing pieces in me. I felt you all in the museum today. Lorraine commenting, "How silly such a big room for such a small painting." Jekonni helping the elderly woman adjust her earphones using my hands. My dad whispering, "Lucinda Bunnen, remember she was one of you contributors the year you won that title, her art is hanging on the walls in this museum where in a week you will be teaching young people poems. You have all this behind and in front of you at the same time."
Then that moment when moved more by the memories than the art, the tears come again, the three of them snickering and giggling, "Now people will think the art moved you. You are so sensitive Theresa, so deep with all that emotion on your sleeve."
No one heckles quite as lovely as the dead.
I feel lighter y'all. Those missing pieces filling up with the new things I am living and learning, understanding that filling them will never remove you from my life.