I've been writing so much and putting so little on paper these days.
Words feel safer in my head.
As summer turns to fall I am reminded once again of the winter chill that brings a red-leafed October. Part of me feels a heart-level homecoming with an old friend; waiting for branches to bare their arms and shed their summer secrets while I wrap mine up in scarves... to protect them from winter's chill.
Part of me feels the annual sting of failure, for never ever ever picking enough berries, for once again not making blackberry pie, for not swimming in the lake, the list could last a season.
And then September starts to end. The leaves begin to die and I with them. Sleep becomes yet another darkness that steals us sooner than expected like the winter sun setting before dinner. Sleep... that thing between bad memories and hot showers to wash them away. The only place in existence where my victories never count and my losses only double.
From the middle of September through the beginning of November, all I can dream about is dead babies. Sometimes it's Grace, sometimes it's just a random child I am deeply in love with who is either ripped from my arms or dead when I find them.
By now I should be used to it and in some ways, I suppose I am. It's hard to say which is more disturbing.
There is no justice for Grace, only hope for redemption in what is left of my life. It seems everyone I know is having babies, many of them celebrating birthdays, starting school, learning how to count and tie their shoes.
I have a cat who sleeps so close on my pillow that he often pushes me out of my own space and claims it for his own. His intentions are never with malice; it's actually the bittersweetest love I've ever known.
He comes to me in the darkness, he knows when I have the dreams. He wraps his body around my head, rests his cheek on mine and softly marches his tiny paws to wake me from my dreams.
In attempt to lessen the darkness this time, I made a deal with God. I'd stop turning up the radio to drown out my thoughts if he'd give me a reason worth being silent. I try and talk to him but I feel like I just keep failing. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to remember. And yet, so much of me wants to scream it at the top of my lungs.
The only thing I've noticed is that even in the silence, the music still plays in my head. I've tried to turn it off but there seems to be no escape. I wonder sometimes if I've created my own hell so loud, even God can't hear me.
Tonight, I have a break from the music, interrupted by a flood from the sky. Maybe God is trying to drown me out too. Maybe he's crying with me. I guess it doesn't really matter. It's a nice break from the silence and at least I know he still cares.
