The day of love, celebrated for Saint Valentine, but secular
nonetheless. A day of love, for most people..
Why then does the day rarely give any pleasure to me, and
more often great pain?
February 14th.. 2000. My grandmother was born again, in the
world that follows. Around 10am, after several days of being
unable to swallow.. after losing enough of her mind to
strokes that she was lost in a world that we couldn't
reach.. She could come to us, rarely.. we were the image of
someone from her youth. And even though we'd been expecting
it for years, preparing for it for years.. it still came
like a blow, even for me. Especially for me.. because I was
old enough to put it aside to take care of my youngest
sister. Because my parents had to deal with everything else
-- so I had to help her, because she needed it. And so I had
to wait.. and couldn't grieve the way I needed to.
February 14th.. 2003. My friends know what happened.. but
they might not remember when. Some of them saw what it did
to me.. some of them saw so clearly it shocks me what it
did. I still can barely believe that the first end of a long
relationship could have broken my ability to do that
midterm. It doesn't surprise me at all that I was
short-range projecting pain when our song was done in the
concert I was at though.
At least now I can stop from projecting pain to everyone
close to me.. I just can't stop it to the person who matters
most, but she can do that herself.