Vividly

I can still remember that night (that morning) she died. I can walk through it, step by step in my mind. And it's not just a memory. I remember it vividly, like I'm re-watching a scene from a movie I've seen a hundred times. I know every line of dialog, every camera change, every mark of every character in the scene.

Most of the time I don't revisit it. I don't relive it. But sometimes something triggers it. A story from someone else who has lost someone, a word that connects me back, an image that looks a little like something from those last days.

It's painful. It takes my breath away, it takes my words away, it takes away everything except reliving those moments and a steady stream of tears. And so I ride it out, I walk through the scene over and over again until I catch my breath, or until someone brings me back, or until...

And then I'm back again, here, now. And my heart feels heavy and my face feels wet and I just feel tired.

But I also feel release. Like I just exhaled a breath I was holding, like I just stretched out a muscle that was cramping.

Maybe if I walk through it enough I'll be able to let the memory go. Maybe it will be less vivid, be less raw, be less real. Maybe the edges will start to get fuzzy, and it will be beautiful instead of painful and soft instead of razor sharp, and.... Maybe.