As a child, I remember my parents telling me of an old tradition. When a family would suffer a loss, they would wear black for a year. The men wore black armbands; the woman wore black dresses. It was a sign of respect for the world to see that they were in mourning. Or perhaps it was a sign to those whom they encountered to take it easy on me. This tradition appeals to me. Wearing a sign that says, Fragile, handle with care.

Fifty-nine days ago. It all ended and began. Mom died. I still have such a hard time saying that, thinking that, feeling that. I shake my head, my body, trying to escape the reality of what still seems unreal to me. The triggers are everywhere. The silliest things make me shiver and think of her. I want to scream. I miss her so much I can't possibly put it into words. I want to try and explain it to those who know I am fragile. I want to tell them to try and envision not being able to ever see, touch, and talk to someone whom they have always done that with. Someone who has always been in their lives. Someone who loved them unconditionally. Not knowing where she is. Not being able to take care of her. Thinking of her in a box covered with dirt. Haunted by these images. Haunted by not being able to DO anything that will change the situation or make it feel any better.

Acceptance is not an option right now. How can you accept that of which is unacceptable?  I want to DO something that will alleviate the pain, the reality of what has transpired. There is nothing I can DO. No action I can take. Learn to live with it. Five little words. What other choice do I have? None! There is nothing that I can DO to change what was, what is I shall wear the color black. Fragile, handle with care. It was 59 days ago. It all ended and began.

Copyright © 2002 Tricia Daly. All rights reserved.