The snow never stops falling here so it’s easy to be romantic about Winter, but I really, REALLY hate this time of year. In two days it’ll be one year to the day that my aunt died and I don’t know how to cope with that. I know I’ll call my cousins (if I can pay the fee to have my phone turned back on) and tell them that I love them, then call my own mother and be okay with how irritated she makes me because at least I have a mom.
It’s just hard to think that it’s been one year since my aunt died. My memories aren’t comfortable; at some point my cousin asked me to get my aunt’s phone from her room. I went in and gasped: her skin was green. Her eyes were taped shut. She was beyond dead, and as much as I wanted to grab that phone, I couldn’t walk over to other side of her bed. I stood paralyzed at this side of her bed and then whispered something to her.
Then I went outside and tore up a garden, kicking, screaming, wailing on the sidewalk.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I remember the long drive home from Tacoma to Idaho thinking, “fuck it, next year will be better.” But this year hasn’t been better. It’s been bad- really bad. I’m not going to go into detail because I really don’t want to even think about it anymore.
I’ll just say that my wife has a heart condition and this week, after all of the doctor visits and worries and blood pressure monitoring, we found out that the problem is an aneurysm.
In her heart.
My wife has an aneurysm in her heart.
I have the gift of words in my bag of tricks, but I have no words for this. I suppose I’ll just ask my readers to imagine hearing those words about their own spouse. “It’s an aneurysm.”
I have nothing to say in response. I’m sure you understand.