It is possible to be hollowed out and filled up at the same time?

Is it possible to miss someone so much and yet think they are still here right beside you.

Is it possible to cry so much that in the end, it’s your daughter who has the blocked tear duct.

Is it possible to be standing on a foundation that is missing bricks.

Is it possible to search for a ride in the clouds on the everyday and also want to float away.

Is it possible to turn on blues music to help the grieving only to be filled up with love.

Is it possible to tiptoe around the memories of the dead while also planting flowers in the tilled soil.

Is it possible to pick up the phone just because and on the other end hear the voice of my dead dad.

Is it possible to feel unburdened and burdened, weightless and leaden.

Is it possible to feel frozen but be walking, one step in front of the other, fall catch fall catch.

Is it possible to have a child and yet be a child.

Is it possible to use the same cloth to wipe up my daughter’s mouth and my dad’s spilled ashes.

Is it possible that grief allows us to love and love allows us to grieve.

I think that’s it.

I wish I had some profound insight to share, some secret unlocked, a seismic action that cracked the earth open and left me holding its core in my hands. Witnessing – in a 12-month span – someone’s last breath and someone’s first breath. An exhale into the atmosphere, a breath in from the atmosphere, as we lie down together in the sky. A long last sigh, the first inhale and cry.

So much can happen in 12 months. A turn around the sun. spinning and spinning. An end and a beginning and a beginning and an end, one in the same. The Ouroboros incarnate. Bookends, supporting each other. Like the Simon and Garfunkel song:

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was

A time of innocence, A time of confidences

Only, I feel neither innocent nor confident.

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