Does going to the cemetery help? Does it bring me comfort?
I drive there on autopilot, the car mostly leading the way. I pull up to her pretty spot –somehow different than all the others- and regard it, blankly, still unable to make the connection. I was there. I made them lower her in while I watched, kissed her coffin.
But I still can’t seem to understand that she’s really in there, down there... in the ground. So I play her music. Barely talk. Sometimes write, draw, or paint. Walk and water- the two standard w’s for proper cemetery visitation. Then I leave.
Just as I do, a sense of rage falls on me so deep and so complete, I feel like I’ve been possessed. It doesn’t pass for hours. I feel like biting the air, knocking things down, screaming, and just having a good old time fit. My eyes must look wild. I don’t know how Jake can stand to be around me. I am short with him. Everything irritates me. The air is too heavy on my skin. Normal sounds hurt my ears. I begin to fantasize about bashing people’s heads in. Take the high road, my ass. I am mean. I can feel it boiling in the back of my throat, hot and bitter bile.
Just as I do, a sense of rage falls on me so deep and so complete, I feel like I’ve been possessed. It doesn’t pass for hours. I feel like biting the air, knocking things down, screaming, and just having a good old time fit. My eyes must look wild. I don’t know how Jake can stand to be around me. I am short with him. Everything irritates me. The air is too heavy on my skin. Normal sounds hurt my ears. I begin to fantasize about bashing people’s heads in. Take the high road, my ass. I am mean. I can feel it boiling in the back of my throat, hot and bitter bile.
Stop going to the cemetery? I wouldn’t dream of it
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