Down

And she’s down. Face down on the table again. Five minutes earlier she was laughing with the grands, beating the card shark at her own game, giving robot hugs and blowing kisses. Picking up the cell phone/daily calendar/keeper of the memories, his picture flashes across the screen. Three years ago in Texas, they stood by a river together, acting like life was normal and nothing could go wrong. Unaware that all they had left was three more years. She took a photo of him taking a photo, his turquoise wedding band always evident on that hand she loved so much. The one that held her face so often. The one that wiped the tears from her eyes. Held the steering wheel while his other hand held hers across the console. The world was theirs.

Until it wasn’t.

Tears flowing freely, she’s always amazed at how quickly she can be knocked on her back by a reminder. He always looks so real in these pictures.  That jawline she first fell in love with. She knows every expression on his face. Every voice inflection he ever made. She’s held his hand so many times, when she lies alone in bed she can imagine it holding hers again. She remembers every detail of the body that once was hers and hers alone.

And she weeps. Face down on the dining room table, knees buckling again, she weeps. Grief holding her in its vice, unexpectedly seizing her heart again, she gives in to the moment and sits in the pain. Someday, she once read, the vice will relax a bit. The pain will loosen somewhat and, along with love, the two will find new pathways. Little by little, all on their own. Unforced, impervious to willpower or pressure, when they are ready, not when she demands it. Until that happens,

She is down again. On her face. Weeping