Snow Plow

Repost from Russisms.com original date April 7 2010:

There are only a few entries here. They vividly capture and describe my loss. Where there is no where to turn, no other way to alleviate the pain, there has always been words. The greif ebbs and flows like the sea, sometimes the tide is out, and you can stand on the soft sand and see it, even feel the spray of it on your face, but the waves do not strike you with force and it is even beautiful sometimes. You are greatful for the chance to stand here and experience it. And then on other days, maybe the next day or just hours after the calmer sea, the tide changes and the dark waves come crashing in to you, stealing the foundation you stand on-even trying to pull you under. If you were to give in and let it carry you away, you would drown. I have noticed the change in the tide. It seems to be a work truck like he used to drive, or a shirt he used to wear, or a smell, or a certain light of day, but most of all it is things like an empty happy evening we would have been together for a bar-b-que or a phone call that I would have most certainly called him first. Car troubles seem to bring it out for me the worst. After all this time, and after so many car issues I always seem to have you would think that it would get better...but it has not, at least not yet. During a recent snow storm I got caught at the bottom of two slippery hills and could not drive up either. I would have called him, and he would have at least been there to come get me. I called my mom, who was out of the area, who told me later she had a few words for my father. She said late,r she knew I was upset because I wanted him. I cant seem to hold it together when these things happen. I cry and cry and cry. I honestly and with as much self control as I can, I try to not get upset. I have read in more than one book, that when the waves of greif come, let them come. It is like trying to hold back the sea. It is and should be impossible. For this was one of only a few people who have been here my whole life, who held me first, who kissed me first, who know me not only as an adult but also as a little child. They are the thread, the line, the door to my whole existence. My first cries and laughes are all tied to only a few, possibly only two people. One is dead. And that is supposed to hurt. Especially since he was there my whole life. On every big fat wet snowflake that hits my car this night it comes back to me. The joys and the regrets. They all hurt the same. And later my mom asks, would I give any of it up? NO. No I would not. For those great funny memories. His big strong hand on my shoulder. The money he used to slip me even when I'd protest. The things he taught me. The smell of gunpowder. The sound his recliner made when he was letting the foot rest down to get up. His laugh. The way he used to say my name. My first bike. My first vehicle. The way he opposed my first homecoming dress and stalked off down the hall. Barbeque, many words..."mudder", "yellow-" when he'd answer the phone. It all came down, each memory on its own snowflake, covering the car, covering me here. And then the snowplow came. It passed along the road above me. And I thought, there is no way that it will come down here. And a few minutes it did. And we followed it, slipping and sliding all the way up the hill. And then back down to home, where I could call my mom and my brother and tell them they didnt need to come get me. Where I could finish crying, and be thankful in a very weird way that I had so many good memories, SO many funny memories that could fill up the ocean. I could be sad and thankful all at the same time while those waves of greif crash in on me. And I can wait, if everyone else around me can wait for just a little while....while I stand sometimes at the edge of the ocean with the waves of greif pounding in and pulling out, my heart broke for what I have lost. And the snow plow. The snow plow will come. I will get traction again. And I may slip and slide up that damn hill but I will get up again.