Sarah's Inscriptions

June 14, 2021  (10 Months) May 29, 2021 The quiet is my least favorite sound.  It's an all-consuming noise.  It fills my head with hints of you.  Pictures that I misinterpret as current, rather than from the archives of my memories.  I've found myself thinking of you a lot here in this quiet place.  I've wanted to say how I can't wait to tell you something.  I've wanted to bring you up.  I don't know why you're coming to me so fully in this place that you were indifferent about at best.  I can't even remember the last time we came here together.  And now I can't get you out of my head.  Normally I don't mind that, and today I really don't either, but just because thoughts of you are welcomed doesn't make them any less sad.  I wish you could be here.  Maybe that's why I like the chaos of my job so much - the screaming and playing of children, the always moving, the distraction - I'm not proud to say that though.  I don...

 May 14, 2021:  9 Months April 27, 2021 I don't really like going to the cemetery, if I'm honest.  The rough patch of ground in front of your headstone just reminds me why it was dug up in the first place.  Then I can't stop my mind from reminding me that you were buried.  Then I simply do everything I can to not throw up.  It's even worse the times that I see you - your face, closed eyes, cold hands crossed, that blue floral dress, your hair curly - peaceful.  I remember you looking peaceful.  The memory does nothing to combat the nausea though.  In fact, it feels suffocating.  Probably because some small part of my brain ignorantly convinces me that you're suffocating.  Grief is a lot.  It's so much.  It's high anxiety and high sadness and high joy when it comes and around and around it seems to go.  But everything is so much, that even in your death I think you're suffering.   Sometimes, if I'm honest, wh...

 May 9, 2021 - Mother's Day Today is Mother's Day.  I wish you were here to smother with love and hugs and annoying-voiced "the Miss!"es that I miss oh so much.  I think days that are made to celebrate you will be the hardest.  Yesterday, Heather and I went to the hardware store to buy some hanging baskets.  I'm sure you were upset with us the entire time because they were quite pricey.  You wouldn't have even stopped there, I'm sure.  I imagine you saying that there are cheaper options elsewhere, like our go-to greenhouse on the corner of 68th and Warner.  We even bought the geraniums for grandpa's grave already.  I hate having to do all of this stuff without you, and without Aunt Diane, and grandma too.  I miss what life was with you... If I were able to on the day of your funeral, I would have said how lovely you were.  How selfless.  I would have stood at that podium and preached to everyone who came that there is not, nor ...

April 14, 2021 (8 Months) April 4, 2021  (Easter Sunday) Happy Easter, Momma.  It's just another thing on the long list of things that keep coming up so quickly, and yet it also feels like you've been gone for a very long time.  A painfully long time.  I kept closing my eyes last night and forcing my brain to show me your face.  I tried to make it remember every word of our last face-to-face conversation, but it betrayed me.  I feel so lost sometimes, so unsure of things without you here.  But mostly, I'm just unsure of why you're not here... I can't believe that it's been so long since I've seen you.  Not just you, but you alive.  Your face.  Your eyes sparkling and your mouth talking.  That pink shirt on that last day I saw you, wiping off groceries that you just went to the store and bought.  You didn't look like someone that was going to die... I don't understand how you died.  I don't mean HOW you died, but how YOU di...