And so I hid

I don’t know why this particular lose came to me, to write about. It is a lose that I never really talk about. Too deep. Too personal. Talking about it is like ripping a scab off. But it is the first lose that came to me and since I am a believer in synchronicity, I’m going with it.
It is one of those memories etched in your brain, a memory that no matter how hard to try to forget it, bury it, hid it, burn it. It lives on. It haunts you. Perhaps I thought I had made peace with this memory. I did didn’t I? It doesn’t stop me in my tracks when I think of it. I don’t hid in my room and spend hours crying. Yet still it weighs heavy in my mind on every return.
I could try to romanticize the memory of my lose but that would not do it justice. This memory deserve more than that. It deserves all the raw emotions it invokes in me.
Oh my lose, how it creeps in unexpectedly at times. Early in the mornings, watching the sunset, hearing a familiar laughter, the smell of cigars, the sound of a motorcycle passing by. My lose tangled in a jumble of memories, that flood me. Some happy, some not so happy. The heart breaking memory always finishes the stream of memories leaving me feeling depressed before the numbness kicks in.
I could just lay out the facts of my lose, but where is the connection, the emotional bind it holds on me, in that?
As I write and debate, the best way to recall, to spill my lose onto paper, I stutter, I shutter, I stammer, I freeze. As if writing about it, talking about it, solidifies it as real. If I remain silent, don’t talk about it, write about it, then perhaps, I can continue to lie to myself. Hold out hope that it was all a bad dream. That I will once again sit and talk with you. That I will once again call you, “dad.”


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