My throat tightens under the pressure of the past and the now and the what will be without you in my life. We are driving past Tacoma, heading to a little town in Oregon and I am in the backseat thinking of your blue eyes and how they only look at me now in a much different way. They are so familiar yet so foreign. Then my throat closes and I am suffocating and the only way I can breathe again is letting the tears pool up and trickle down my cheek. They pick up pace and are now large drops mixing with my makeup, weaving their little trails and tell- tale signs of sadness. They fall and fall and fall and fall and I keep drowning, drowning, drowning in that dark ocean of black mascara and salt water that keeps steadily rising.
Twenty- two days and this hasn’t happened much but I can’t stop. And maybe the weather catches on because it starts raining again and the cars and trees of Olympia are one big blur from the tears and raindrops, as if my state of mind has been projected onto the passing landscape. Time has also become a blur, but I think I have been crying for far too long, since we are past Olympia now. It takes a while to resurface to real life but the grip these memories has on my throat slowly releases. This could be because Blackbird comes on the speakers and brings a little peace with it, or simply because I have run out of tears, but I start to feel better. This happens again on our car ride back, me in the backseat feeling so desperate and cut- off from those around me. I’m sure it will happen again, maybe tomorrow, maybe on day fifty. I’m not cut- off, though, I am surrounded by people that love me and this is what allows the air to enter and exit my lungs normally again.
I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control of my emotions. But, I think it’s okay to get this way, sometimes. To steal a line from my favorite book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, “She wasn’t bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time.”
Thank you, Lord, for patience.