The Early Elephant

His birthday came early this year. I felt the loss, the grief, the day before the 26^th of May.

In hindsight I always recognise the signs but never as they set in. Some years are worse than others. I’m always determined that I’m ok, that this elephant does not need to be dealt with. I always get out of bed and try to begin the day.

I walked down to work with in my head in stitches. I couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun nor could I smell the morning. My mouth was dry and my eyes saw only grey and drain water.

The little things that set me off are always so little. I find myself weeping, gently and continuously. I wipe the tears from my face as if they are not there until the great, tired emptiness engulfs me. Until I acknowledge that I need to completely stop, to take time to remember, to feel, to miss him, to be sad.

Being sad takes energy. You have to stop everything else and stare the sadness in the face. You cannot multi-task sadness, it waits for you and it is impatient.

I came home and slept and slept the afternoon away. When I woke up my cheeks ached and I felt old like an elephant but whole again.

He would have been 59 and would have hated it.