~”My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?
Yes, I’ve been asking my Lord this. A Lot.
I’ve been questioning, pondering, screaming, weeping, lamenting, howling, and bleeding instead of praying. I can’t seem to find the right words through the tears, the tears, the tears.
The salt is drowning me. And I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t confess; it would be easier to just drown, damn well drown. It would be easier to not know what happened, to not breathe, to not remember, to allow the moments to melt into other moments.
But I keep waking up to the same reality. A different kind of sunlight. A new darkness.
I asked my husband the other day, “Did Mike really do that? Did he really kill my sister? If so, how can my heart continue to beat? If so, why am I still walking?”
How can I live without her? How can I listen to the radio, do dishes, wash clothes, make supper, and smile a fake smile minute after minute, day after day, year after year, birthday after birthday, Christmas after Christmas?
Sleep. Awaken. Sleep. Awaken. All of those minutes without her. O’, to now sleep would be utterly abundant.
I went through Kay’s clothing this week. I lifted her long winter coats, headbands, scrubs, and leather purses to my nostrils to inhale her, feel her, be with her. I searched her pockets for something, anything. I found receipts, change, matches, pink lipsticks…lots of pink lipsticks.Kay
Anything to grasp onto.
Her favorite perfume, Sensuous, filled every corner of the room. And I cleaned out her big hairbrush to stroke her dark brown hair one more time; one more time…
There will never be another time. Except in heaven, my Sweet.
When this man decided to murder my sister, he altered several lives. He did not care. He did not care. The Son of a Bitch, did not care.
Kay’s beautiful boys, Aaron and Jordon, are living with my Saintly parents. Mike’s sister is wearing his gold wedding band, writing poetry, and planning his memorial service for July. His mother is mourning in some remote cabin in Brule, Wisconsin, and his brother has been drunk for three weeks; nobody has heard from him since. Even her three cats have been uprooted, betrayed, and removed from the house they grew up in.
I keep hearing Mazy crying and meowing in the back seat. I keep hearing people whispering- “You’ll survive this. You’ll go forward.” I keep hearing three gun shots. I don’t give a damn about the forth. I keep hearing the beating of my heart, the beating, the fucking beating…
And I don’t understand how my heart can continue beating…
Because I am still bleeding. I am still drenched in red wine and salt and sorrow. I am like a child who does not know whether she is lonely or hungry or thirsty…
I am longing…
For my soul-mate to walk though the front door with that gigantic grin of hers, for her to kiss me on the cheek with those plump pink lips, for her to love me, love me, love me.
Because NOBODY will ever love me like that again…