I have been unconsciously distracting myself from the rapidly-approaching first anniversary of my mother’s death, which will arrive all too soon on May 31st. I have become busy again with many projects and plans, being productive and constructive and feeling increasingly connected to my body and the world around me, in new and surprising ways.
I still think of her every day, and smile at the photographs of her on my fridge, but I have not been making space for sorrow, and I have been feeling an increasing edginess that nudgingly reminds me that soon, sometime soon, I need to. So tonight I posted a poem and some links to songs that remind me of her, and her death, on the memorial website that was created for her, and I listened to those songs, one at a time. Last year, they had me weeping time and time again, but tonight I find the tears that have dried up these past months are not yet ready to flow.
I hope they do soon. The ache I begin to feel when they are absent reminds me of a poem I wrote (and posted) last August whilst sitting on a red London bus on a rainy day:
Have likened the rain to tears, or tears to rain.
The comparison should have lost its potency through reiteration
Yet, sitting watching drops trickle steadily down the window,
I can think of nothing but how they would feel on my cheek –
Cold rather than hot and salty,
Expressing my sorrow when my body cannot.