The Goodbye Process

by Mary Jones

I’d been to parties like this, in college and after, and I could almost remember having as much fun as they all seemed to be having. But only almost.

Looking at them, a strange thing happened to me: I could feel time. It seemed as though if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch it. I could feel the years of my life passing. So much of my life seemed to be looking forward to something that never came, but now, somehow, it all seemed to be behind me.

You settle for so many things. You make so many compromises along the way that you cannot even remember what it was you actually wanted. You can almost see the outline of it in the things you have. But only almost. And you think, Okay, well, this is my life. It’s good enough, and I can make the most of it. Until you find out that what you thought was your life was just someone else’s good acting.

Could grief remain so raw as this forever, and were we all professional mourners clawing our way from one loss to the next?