It's still a boulder...

A friend recently urged me to watch a movie. I haven't watched it yet (but I fully intend to). Just in case I never get around to it, he typed the dialogue of a few scenes out for me.

It resonated deep.

DAUGHTER: Does it ever go away?

MOTHER: What?

DAUGHTER: This feeling.

MOTHER: No. I don't think it does. Not for me it hasn't. And that's goin' on eleven years.
(beat)
It changes though.

DAUGHTER: How?

MOTHER: I don't know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around - like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: "Oh right. That." Which can be awful. But not all the time.

Sometimes it's kinda... Not that you like it exactly, but it's what you have instead of your son, so you don't wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn't go away, which is...

DAUGHTER: What?

MOTHER: Fine...actually.

I can't say that I've forgotten for even the briefest moment. But just when I think I'm doing so well, and this "thing" might be turning into more of a brick, little things creep up, just to remind me that it's still a big ugly boulder.

A holiday passes...

A memory surfaces...

Jocee asks if Daddy's flying that plane overhead, or if he misses her, or if he likes being away from her...



And I'm right back under that boulder, all over again. Crushed and gasping for air.



I still miss him so much, it leaves a physical ache. I think it's safe to say that the three of us do.


I love Ben.

That is all.