Wednesday, August 8, 2012
.there is freedom within, there is freedom without.
Every year, in March, I touch upon my mother's death in a blog entry or refer back to my longest and most detailed post to date on the subject. But when August rolls around, I shut down. Clam up. I go completely blank. Because, when it's August and the eighth of the month is near, when my father and the anniversary of his death comes up, I find there are not enough words. Or the right ones get lost somewhere between my brain and my tongue – or, as the case may be, my fingers. Perhaps it's harder because I watched my dad fade away in the hospital – an experience that, for a long time after, left me with nightmares and flashbacks accompanied by shortness of breath and sobbing jags. But then again, I saw my mom deteriorate for years before her heart attack at 54, compliments of her extremely poor health, I'm sure. So I am not sure that explanation makes complete sense.