Thursday, June 14, 2018


I didn't intend to take a blog break, but I guess I needed one. I kept meaning to write, had ideas, but didn't settle down to do so. My last post was the letter written to Kevin on the anniversary of his death and now, creeping up to what should be his 60th birthday celebration, I'm writing again. I guess blogging remains therapeutic for me. Thank you for still being here.

I'm sitting in a cafe in Kansas City. I'm here because I have gigs tonight and tomorrow; I flew in and rented a car, just like someone who doesn't live here. Because I don't, not anymore. Sitting in this cafe, with the relentless Missouri heat outside, heat Kevin loved, knowing this is not home anymore and that Kevin is not home anymore well... it's a big wave.

Grief comes in waves, you know that. Right now I am in the swirling current of a cresting wave; it's not quite a tsunami but it pulls me under. My lips taste of salt and it doesn't matter if it's from tears or ocean water.

I am here, in the cafe I loved in the city I loved where I lived with the man I still love. I am here for the work I love, work I know he would be proud that I am doing and doing well. He is not here. He is not here.
He is not here.

It doesn't make any sense.
Yet it is what it is.

I am surrounded by love and I feel my heart cracking open, again. The difference now is that I know this moment will pass, that soon enough I won't be hiding tears while in public. The difference now is that there is a harsh kind of welcome to these hard feelings, the reminder that I am still this connected. It still hurts like hell. I still look for him and always will.

The difference now is that I know grief is another expression of love, and I am grateful for it all. The love is my life raft that carries me through the biggest waves.

Thank you all for loving me through.

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True Stories, Honest Lies by Laura S. Packer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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