Echo

IMG_2316I sat in the corner crook of our living room couch, quietly interacting with my busy family in relaxed, easy-going tones. Mindlessly, I laid my head to the left and found myself looking into the eyes of my son. I let myself linger on the photograph, as his smile cracked into the mundane moment.

Suddenly, I felt the chill of a scream – I could actually hear it from within me, “Oh my God!” The panicky words rang through my mind. “He’s gone! Oh my God, he’s gone!”

I could feel my heart thudding in a quickened, choppy pattern as my neck and chest flushed with the release of epinephrine. My soft tummy muscles clenched as a sour taste pricked in my mouth.

I hadn’t forgotten – that we was gone – it had simply been awhile since I remembered – since I’ve been, here, in this place… I can’t possibly live in this moment forever – this place of excruciating clarity, so I don’t – live here.  I’ve wanted to, and I’ve not wanted to… But regardless of my desires, I just can’t. So I don’t… Somehow I’ve been moving through this world without living in this place pulsing with voiceless screams.

But then I turn a corner  and I realize that ‘this world’ I’ve been navigating, is in fact, a grotesque house of mirrors, and I’m staring at MY CHILD trapped beneath glass – Graham, real and not real, lost but right where I left him.

I share space with the echoes of my own misery, shadows that move through me and vomit that oozes from me.

I don’t live here.  It lives within me.

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One thought on “Echo

  1. Gretchen July 5, 2016 / 9:35 am

    You capture the submerged anguish so well. It is exactly like this. The panicked silent scream…, the balance of: dulling the constant, chronic remembering in order to live on. Thank you, Kristin.

    Like

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