April & Everything After

Sometimes the rotation of the earth grinds to a halt, and the global lurch sends me sprawling to my face. It's in these prostrate moments that I wonder about myself, about all the aspects of what it is to be me.

During Easter weekend, I was driving a few blocks from home, and a random thought was followed by: "Mom would've liked that. I wish she were still here."

I'm not trying to upset the order of nature or anything. I'd just like something casual, something carefree. Perhaps I could just putter my car into some Twilight Zone and drop by their old house for a brief visit. I could hug Mom and kiss her cheek. I could make her smile and pretend to like that little rodent Chihuahua of which she was so fond. I could hug Dad and chat about his golf game. And maybe tell him on the sly about the milkshake from the local DQ that I snuck in the backdoor and left in the refrigerator for him. (Mom didn’t want him having them.)

Then, I could tell them good-bye. One more time.

That would make me happy.

Those thoughts loosened the structure of the dam, and I was soon flooded in emotions of loss and grief. Mostly, I recall the wonderful memories and the warmth of family love. But, last night, I couldn't keep at bay the accompanying visions of those three Aprils, when I returned home from California, Korea, and Colorado to bear my loved ones to their final resting. My grandmother, father, and mother died in consecutive Aprils.

I think T.S. Eliot had the power of discernment. April is the cruellest month.

I miss Mom and Dad terribly.