Still Here

A Story by KP

The abundance of grief and a glimpse into the manifestation of loss

She turned over in bed and sighed. With her eyes closed to the morning, her mind was heavy and empty with knowing, with remembering. She listened to the silence of the room and thought of how she was still here. Peeling the covers back and sitting up she started the day with lead in her limbs and a shambling walk to the bathroom - switching on the lights against the gloom of the day and the dense clouds that loomed and swirled around her like building dark matter.

She showered and dressed and covered her face - first with creams, makeup, her hands and then tears. Hidden behind her fingers they trickled and seeped - potently salty - before bursting and gushing. Liquid pain. She stayed like this, riding the waves, rocking herself in time with the swell and flow of the rushing relentless chaotic emotional tide. Un-knowing, un-wanting, unable to bring it under control, to comprehend its vastness. Her mind constantly feeling around to find edges she could pull together - to pull herself together.

Some time later. Too weary-tired. She crawled back into bed and cocooned herself inside the covers. Her puffy swollen face cooling against the sheets. She sighed quietly, closed her eyes and let go of her body, drifting off gently, chased into sleep by the thought that she would wake up again. Still here.