This Day

This day has come again. The air is crisp and cold; the sun is out, shining brightly in a sky peppered with wisps ofclouds. I wake up and go about my day, drunk with dreamy sleep. For weeks now I have been preparing myself for today. Small batches of grief well up and release. Memories flash back to me in an instant. This day is somehow always on my mind, yet mostly silent, a wallflower at the back of my pscyhe. I find myself sitting at the same kitchen table that I sat at two years ago, desperately trying to get back to Indiana, the same tears running down my face. Snatches of text messages and phone calls flicker for an instant in my mind. Images so seared in my memory play on repeat. I remember the vodka filled orange juice I chugged on my 6 a.m. flight, my sobs causing alarm among my fellow passengers and the crew (darkly, I think this was my chance to finally get upgraded to first class). I remember the dark sunglasses, the way my breath floated past me in the frozen air. Did her last breath float away like a little cloud as well? I remember the elevator doors opening, revealing nearly every important person from my life, anxiously awaiting my arrival. I remember the sardonic mask I wore, attempting to deflect grief with wit and vulgarity. I remember good friends and cigarettes and that hollow, empty look that has just recently my parents' faces. I hear the clack of my leather shoes against the cool hospital tile, pacing back and forth, keeping guard to my sister's quarters. That hard clack still follows me around in airports, cruise ship hallways, and city streets. This day plays on repeat constantly in my head, but especially today. I date my deposit at the bank today and grimace, thinking why can't it just be tomorrow? I go from small talk with new friends to sadly facing my reality, begging courage to speak the truth. I have repeated this story enough for a whole lifetime. In the middle of the ocean, thinking I am a stranger in a distant land, the sea and island sounds surround me with her essence. The pain subsides but lingers. No longer suffocated by grief, I am all too aware of the astringent power of loss. This day will never go away; it will come every year just like all the good days. Today I will be blue and humble and quiet. Today I will remember. Tomorrow will come, and I will wake up and live and laugh. But I will never forget.