The shadow of grief has shifted. The permanence of A.’s absence can no longer be ignored or deferred. Her absence is everywhere. She was my everything. My life partner. My confidante. My love. My support system. My best friend. And now I look below from this strange vantage point. People are milling about, and many appear happy, laughing. Elsewhere, children jump with excitement; they seem to be playing a game. Life continues, and from up here, they are silent. My distance doesn’t allow me to eavesdrop, but their body language is evident: they are happy. And I cannot participate, even if I had the desire. I’d been building a castle of loneliness for decades, but A. prevented me from placing the final stone. She is now gone, and the stone set itself. This castle is complete.
And so, I have lost practically everything. My life ended the night she died. And at some point, I was reborn. I don’t look the same. My eating habits have changed. Even my flesh feels different. The life I now call my own is becoming less foreign, but I’m far from feeling comfortable here. I’m far from everything. I know where the sex workers walk, and I’ve thought about — these thoughts are far from fantasy — engaging, copulating, and thrusting myself out of this endless loop of pain and loneliness. I need something to break through this hell, even if it’s for a brief evening. But those are temporary measures, and refusing to engage grief will only prolong the suffering, so I stay here, in this new home, and all the screens are on, and they’re all flashing and sounds like sirens are ringing because the silence is now terrifying.
My therapist encourages me to confront these feelings through writing. Through music. And I haven’t missed a day of Peloton since the bike arrived. “See, mom, I’m trying,” I would tell her over the phone if she were still alive. She’d be drunk, tripping over her platitudes, but it’d be better than nothing. Her voice would feel familiar. Predictable. A connection, fraying, but symbiosis nonetheless. But it’s a fantasy. No one is here, and in the shadow of grief, I’m inconsolable.