yesterday was filled with longing and sadness.
today is a hateful day.
i hate the day. i hate the world. i hate the people i’m meant to love. i hate my fears that have kept me from things – that i have given them such authority in my life. i hate the timing of all the things beyond my control. i hate death and the finality is brings to relationship. and the longing and sorrow it leaves behind.

ben told me a couple of weeks ago that i often make decisions in a timely manner. if a decision needs to be made i wait for the right timing to see it through to completion. the past couple weeks excluded, i’d say that is a fair assessment of me and can think of instances where i’ve done just that.

but today, time is a riddle. the way is always seems to be, especially on days where everything is late or wrong. or on the days that seem too sweet to end.

i wasn’t expecting the alligator tears upon walking through the gates. though this is my first real time back. and sitting in this room makes the memories of the day of the funeral so fresh i can feel them. most distinctly i remember my interaction with it, too trapped in my thoughts to remember much else. one of my less observant days.
i remember spending way too much time searching for something to wear and knowing that nothing would feel right. i still wish i had worn something different, more classy. but everything felt wrong despite the efforts. actually, because of this experience i lent a simple, elegant black dress to a friend when her father passed last year. partially so she wouldn’t have to worry about it and partially so that she wouldn’t have to look at that article of clothing again every time she opened the closet.
i remember we sang Amazing Grace and the priest saying that it was one of my dad’s favorites. really though, they sing it at every funeral. though the priest did know my dad, so perhaps that was accurate.
i remember with aching the last letter i wrote my dad. to make up for all the ones i didn’t take the time to sit down and write before. hidden in the back of the frame behind his headshot.
mausoleums are strange to me. this tunnel hallway of memorial. but no way to keep spoken thoughts and shared tears hidden in this echoing cave. rather i’d be shouting to the sky.
though i do remember how much Matt did to make everything perfect. there’s not a thing i would have done different and i’m sure Dad is glad to be here. i remember being proud and thankful for Matt honoring our father so well.

seems appropriate that my response to visiting my dad today is to write, being that he was an aspiring writer himself. plus, writing makes more sense than speaking. especially to him. i don’t know that there’s much to say.
i want to keep hating today. i want to be angry or full of blame. but that time has passed. this is the time to move on, keeping stepping forward. let these entrapments settle here on the floor of this place and see what is next. time to grow up and stop letting these scars have such a claim on me, such power in my life to rob me of it.
blame would be the easy way, and much more destructive and painful in the long run. might as well walk through the pain now.

i had this picture of the pieces of my broken story sitting on the floor around me. as if i’ve taken the time to pick them up, each individually. examine their shape and all the ways they might hurt depending on the angle and pressure applied. running my hands along the edges and studying their constitution. trying to fully grasp each piece. but never realizing that they go back together in some way. its just a matter of starting. like a collage that starts off jumbled and messy at first, or really looks like nothing. but at the end everything makes sense again and resembles beauty. you just have to commit to the process and see it through.

been sitting on this song this week