Day 16: Time
When recovering from trauma (or in my case, grief), time does not progress linearly. Time seems to move too fast or too slow. Yesterday seems so long ago. The breakup, not 10 minutes ago. I don’t know why this is.
Theologian Shelly Rambo talks about this in terms of the Triduum: Holy Saturday seems so perpetual. Tomorrow is crucifixion. Yesterday was resurrection.
I experience this moment by moment.
Last night Nate started packing his stuff. I laid paralyzed on the bed, sobbing. I thought about when we moved in. I thought about our walk to Macrina Bakery that first morning, looking out on the bay. I cried over last Christmas and the building of the bookshelf. I cried over the Christmas before, when I shipped him his recording equipment from Indiana.
I was a good girlfriend. I was a good girlfriend. I was a good girlfriend.
Then Nate and I talked, about life. (About his life, really.) And I could feel a little distant, caring, but distant. And I went to bed OK, and kind of happy, and full of hope.
Maybe false hope, maybe delusional hope (that we still have a connection, one that no breakup can sever).
I woke up OK.
I’ve carried on today OK.
Then I look at his hand and think, damn, I want to hold it. Will he let me? Should he let me?
And Holy Saturday covers me again: the tears or the fiery anger.
June 24, 2014