“Describe Your Home” Fiction. Based on a True Heart Mangled by Grief.

“Describe Your Home”

Fiction. Based on a True Heart Mangled by Grief.

by Guest Contributor

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.

This is the home where I sleep without you. There have been others. That home I slept in when you left had to be packed in boxes that sat for almost exactly five years, while I went to prison for thirty eight months and then struggled to be able to have a home the boxes could come home to. This is the home where I sleep without you. Tomorrow will mark seven years since you left. I miss you today as much as I have ever missed you. I have more flowers for you, Princess.

When I walked out of that hospital room–the last person to leave you, the last person to kiss you, the last person to pray with you and for you, my entire foundation had, in fact, crumbled. I knew they would remove your organs and that would be the end of you as I knew you, love you and fell so deeply in Love with you. I even knew you were doing some other ones good by donating what organs were able. I drove home. The cutting of my heart cords was complete. Over and over while doing all the right deeds to give you the most elegant sending off I could manage, in the dark of night and broad daylight I asked myself countless times, “What’s the point? What’s the point of whatever comes next in my life? How can I be grateful?”

And I made it my purpose to look up into God’s face and tell Him, “Fuck you.” And I meant it. The music of nature is tuneless and warped because it is created by God. Fuck God. “Fuck you, God.” And I meant it. Home did not exist.

You know I come and see you often. I was just there yesterday, out there where you so badly hurt that you bled internally until your petite body could not. It is such an ugly place. The intersection has been reconstructed, but yours is no longer the only memorial marker; there are three others in a fifty foot radius. Yours is on a corner. Every Sunday I take you fresh flowers and pick up the garbage and read to you and kiss your cold lonely sign. I wake up early to get there by daybreak because it was about that time of day when you became an angel. You also have a pond. And duckies. But you have something else. Something odd…like you. One duck and an alligator that swim together every Sunday morning right to where I make your final ugly earthly home a place of beauty–beautiful for you and beautiful like you. And the alligator comes up to the fence and rubs its tummy on the ground and rests while I work. I know you know we talk. I know you do all that because it’s just plain weird, and it is precisely the kind of thing you would do. Reading Shakespearean sonnets 17, 18, 116, and 109 while an alligator sits by the fence ten feet away listening (?) is indescribably you. It’s one of so many reasons why I continue to fall more and more in Love with you. Your final earthly home is my home; it is where my soul lives and breathes and sings because I know you know I am there and you come to see me..every Sunday. I don’t know whether you are the duckie or the alligator but I know they/you work together; I have video evidence of your doings. Sometimes I figure the duckie is out there where I cannot go, so you send the alligator as an intermediary. Other times I wonder if you are the alligator. Most of the time it doesn’t matter, just that you are there. Where you are is home. I go there because the suffering of not going where you are is too much pain to endure. Even though I cry sometimes when I go there, being there and doing for you helps me realize that there is Love in the suffering, and the suffering must have Love because all I have for you is Love. You are a blessing and you have my blessing. What I do for you is my joy. And I know today that it is how I give back..to God–the very same God I cursed. I know today that I cannot survive losing you without Him. You are God’s child, God’s angel, and my heart. And you are today and will always be my Love.

I am writing this in the home where I sleep without you. I have more flowers for you. I’ll be home in the morning, Princess. I Love you.


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