Monday, April 14, 2014

Three Years


So, today it's been three years since the crash.  I don't necessarily like to plant a flag in the day and make it a holiday or anything, but I can't help but be a bit overwhelmed by the mix of thoughts and emotions stirred up by the day; it feels like it needs to be acknowledged. I'm happy to say I've progressed quite a bit both physically and mentally, though there's still some work to be done in both areas. It's one of those things that, if approached healthily, does not stop or go away. With luck it fades, but it must be organic. It is a slow process, and it is a bummer. These are facts. I still occasionally get upset about it all, especially when doing my exercises, but I understand there's nothing to do about it but continue to live and to spread understanding to as many people as possible. I miss my friend dearly and always will; and I will never forget how all of you have helped Nissa and I during the most difficult period of lives. Thank you, take care, be safe, and light a candle for Alex if that makes sense to you.

This is a thing I wrote about how I was feeling. It rhymes, which is unusual for me. Hopefully it makes sense:


It seems critical to mention it,
though much of me would rather not.
It's tempting to re-frame it all
as something I've forgotten.
But framing begs precision,
begs measurement and foresight;
and efforts to adjust refine
my focus on that night.

One's memory should not be caged,
its tendrils flip and spark at will.
Through time and sentiment it roams
one's storage houses never filled.
On some it trips and sparks anew
senses recognized of old;
some are hunted, caked in dust,
damp in mounds of grief and mold.

And others stacked and clearly labeled,
filed neatly for retention.
Some are mounted separately
with honor and intention.
But some live crouched in shadows,
slipping coolly through the dark,
flashing unexpected
then returning to the murk.

After these a persistent image clings,
ringing red the present day
with fear the remnant will be replaced
at any time with the same
brief terror, quicker than a thought,
an agonizing second lost,
a message hung and left to rot,
a cruel reminder of the cost.

Invincible, these flashes stalk,
stinging with impunity.
At times provoked, at times unaided,
regardless, one's whole being peels.
It's always fresh, although removed,
diluted from its mortal strength.
The fear becomes how strong the next will be
and how long it remains.

One fears the recollection,
not its formative event.
One rues the fact one's current state
was wrought without intent.
One yearns one's memory were tamed,
selective, if receding;
but to block the gasping end
would be to block the laugh preceding.

So one lives aware one's house is rigged,
conscious in the threat,
gut punch shock or doldrums mud
with each reminder met.
We walk unbowed by what has passed,
accepting all, and yet
we long for the impact's fade
while not trying to forget.

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