At times, the body is willing while the mind is unable; although the reverse is occasionally true and it is the body’s turn to be unable. Heavily, your mind floats. You think of the small things that meant so much, while simultaneously discrediting the things that seemed insurmountable at some point. A very contradicting period. You might be approached by people who sympathize your loss, though you may not understand the gravity of it all until it is written plain on their faces. It somehow supercedes that little voice in you that was keeping it together just fine on its own. Stuttering communication becomes the most painful and it is group healing that may break you. Words are a knot in your throat. Silence is acceptable.

Anonymous joy can become an annoyance. Duties taste like ash. You may have come to terms even prior, but a shred of you entertained that they were invincible, especially if they talked big, acted big, yelled and kicked and screamed big. You may want to scream, yourself, but a new compassion may awaken. A razor’s edge of hostility and warmth, but always with heat behind the eyes. Breathing becomes a conscious maneuver. Sleep is a coma, but claiming this respite is an uphill climb. Noises are too loud. Lights are too bright. You expect reactions where there are none and receive surprises in others. You may dread contact because of this unpredictability, this unknown. You only know that it will hurt and lead where you don’t want to go. Try to remember the person with a smile as you decide to pursue one coping mechanism over the next. Some days are better than others.

It’s not even the “are” at this point but the “were”. If you’re okay with how the “were” went down, you can imagine how having no “will be” is going to turn out. The bond was deep, but breakable. The density was high, but replacable. The chains must be severed unless one is to be dragged down to the murky depths. Thoughts naturally turn to the crumbling survivors because, really, they are to be pitied and to be cared for. Strength for their sake. They have the uncertainty and weakness and the un-knowing. Detach the weight and move forward, yourself. Aid those without the means.

You have all the skills and the words and the thoughts that the person intended to give you. Everything else is just conjecture. Unspoken messages are just as important, just as real. The past is what happened, not what could have happened. Your impressions of who they were and your own diminishing memories are of the things most meaningful, personally, and can rarely be communicated with any degree of efficiency. Those images will soon fade and a sensitive yearning may remain. The details don’t matter, nor should the causality, nor should the quantifiable substance. Mistakes and achievements abound, though it all comes out in the wash. The feelings remain in many forms. Even our recollections are temporary and a desperation may seek a mental revival, though this too is also folly. Although everything lessens in time, even memories, that person is what they were to you and will always be.

I’ll miss you, Mimi.