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Breathing
Copyright 2016 Christina M. Guerrero
DEDICATION
This is for My Love.
STORY BEHIND THE STORY
Loss
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
Draft Number One:
Reviewed the column and found this sentence: "I continued to breath in that labored way." Um. Okay.
Draft Number Two:
Working toward ending the repetitious repetitions.
For most of the day I was surprised.
I was definitely sad that he was dead.
But I was able to move about, and get things done.
That was weird. What happened to not being able to move? Or not wanting to do anything? Or needing to just be silent and reflective most of the day?
I waited. And waited.
But did not feel what I had felt the previous years during this anniversary: severe, crippling, overwhelming sadness.
As the day went on, I felt a bit more sad.
But still, not incapacitated.
And then ....
I felt something. My lungs felt odd.
I went off to be by myself.
My lungs strained, searching for oxygen.
I thought it might be some type of asthma attack. Or a cold coming on.
My breathing became labored.
And then more labored.
The sensation overtook me, extending from my lungs, to my brain, to attempts at moving.
I had to sit down. On the floor.
I continued to breath in that labored way.
Suddenly ... there it was ... the longing for him. At a time significant to both of us.
My breathing was terribly strained.
There were tears, but not like most tears. They moved slowly. They came out, slowly, one after the other, following memories that were full of him. The tears accompanied images of him, like silent harmony.
The sounds I made sounded like death. I thought perhaps I might be dying. I hoped I was -- perhaps I would finally see him again.
I sat on the floor for a long time, breathing that way, feeling the tears wet my face and my clothes.
I searched the heavens for him.
I searched my memory, reliving his presence and his smile and his eyes and his laughter.
And this came to me: “The loss is in all of one’s senses. It is a whole body experience: emotional, mental, physical, social, spiritual. It is your being. It is a part of life. Even though it is death, it is still about life, and it is about everything.”
At times, because of this loss, I have been unwilling to go any further, and have to work hard against that. In a perfect world, there would be no death, and we would rejoice in each others’ company continually. In this world with death, we have to treat grief like an illness, and take time to heal, and not rush it, and do things at our own pace. We need to fully recover from our losses. Sometimes this may take a lifetime.
On the floor, I cried out in pain several times. Everything hurt: the entire history, the loss, the presence, the absence, the happiness, the sadness.
There was nothing sweeter than he. He was for me. We had our time, and I wish our time could have been longer.
I felt him with me.
I searched the heavens again for him.
Realizing he is all around, and not completely gone.
I did not want to be found on the floor, breathing as if dying, so awkwardly moved to my feet and tried to get back to life.
It was difficult. A lot of me did not want to move.
The breathing was still in that rhythm: emerging from my soul, sounding like my heart, sounding like a dying heart, sounding like life moving towards death.
I waited.
Felt him near, around me, always a part of me.
And there was some comfort at that thought.
Slowly, my soul returned.
I was still.
He was a part of me. He always was. Always will be.
I thought of all that he was, and how he continues to be the same, after death, and how I will always know him.
I went back to life, slowly at first, then back up to speed.
R.I.P., My Love
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