Erin Lunde

Stories About Telling Stories

In Grief: Day 40

Today, I’m in the bright sunshine of my favorite season in my favorite month. I’m digging out some inspiration like it’s the crust around the lid of the yogurt container that needs to come out or damn it my kids will disown me for having to resort to another kind of breakfast; I’m trying, man. I’ve come up with two story ideas and a challenge for myself. I’m re-connecting with my Creativity Matters group and my Short Story Club.

And then I have the thought: I’d like to get a tattoo of my family tree on my left collarbone (which, yes, is over my heart. But that’s not even what I was thinking, originally. I wanted words across the bone.). When I finished that thought, I burst into tears. I wouldn’t say my mood darkened. I’m just feeling somewhat fragile, I guess.

This weekend, my toddler and I went down to my parents’ and saw my sister. We cried a few times. We laughed, too. But then we cried some more. And then my mom and I saw a YouTube video that some friends of my nephew’s created in honor of him. And then we wept and wept, even though my dad said it was a happy thing.

Yes, it was so happy. My nephew had so many friends. They loveloveloved him.

Now I’m crying in the car while my toddler sleeps (we are parked).

I have a new sensation in my chest and throat. It arrived on Saturday. I feel like I swallowed several jumbo cotton balls and that they’re wedged at the base of my throat. I have some trouble breathing deeply.

This is how the 40th day feels to me.

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