Loved One

by Aisha Muharrar

“Oh yes, dear,” Kathy said. Her face softened into a maternal tenderness. “You may not feel it yet, but at some point, it will hit you. And then you’ll be back to normal, talking to someone, just like we are now, and it will hit you all over again. Grief comes in waves.”

So did I, but I thought that was because I was a girl. I didn’t know any guys who liked anything done by a woman as much as they liked something done by a man.

FPE :)

There was a queasy unease to treading new waters, building the compass as you sailed, every choice a guess. Except it was worse now. Because it was expected at eighteen, or even twenty-five, but at thirty, it was embarrassing.

Things were things until the thing meant something and then it was invaluable.

It was like finding out someone else was fluent in a language you thought you had invented.

observing a hustle that does not require your participation.

The more was the friendship. The more was knowing we would have each other even as the people we dated passed through our lives. We were lucky the way we were. In other words, it would have been perfect if it snowed that night. But it didn’t and it was perfect anyway.

didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be around other people. There was some kind of impossible divide between me and the world. Not only clueless

He was a cool, kind guy. Which made me think there had to be another cool, kind guy out there.

Now Gabe was saying: that time was exactly how it felt, your instinct was correct; it was no small ordinary forgotten thing, it was worth cherishing.

“So. We covered Separate Bedrooms and My Grandmother’s Collection, but the real question is what is next for Julia?” “And Gabe.” “Yes. What is next for Julia and Gabe?”

The skin between his eyebrows drew together, he dragged his hand over his face. He nodded, getting it. “My friend died in a motor accident last year.” Quietly I said, “I’m so sorry.” “I look both ways twice when I cross the street, I cannot stop doing it. I never used to do that, but now I think: Remember Riad.”

There was a little tag with the engraving: medical: situs inversus. Then, on the back, Protect him.

To be known is

There was no ambiguity in my mind. In that love, I felt certain. The question would have been what to do with it, how to express it, what to call it.

Asalways

Grief was a large spectrum on a microscopic scale, and from where Caroline was standing, she could not see the gulf between better and—I don’t know—done? Healed?

Sometimes I find myself thinking the thought that no self-respecting adult is supposed to think, the whine of a child. It’s not fair.

Rt

I know that grief takes practice. And I’m patient with myself. Even though death happens all the time, no one could ever be a natural at this.

Sometimes I pass something that catches my eye, or ear, and I think, Gabe would love this; or remember when, together, we loved that? I pause, grateful to run into him again.