Just the other day I stumbled upon this excerpt from a poem by Raymond Carver. I screenshot it shortly after Donna died. It pierced my heart for its truth and pain.
I’m currently working on a book. There is a few paragraphs about how call out Donna’s name at random times when memories flood my mind and I feel my loss the deepest. I thought I’d just post that here for who knows why.
“All these years later when I thought about that I smiled. It was playful it was us when no one was looking. A little moment painted in meticulous watercolor brush stokes where the wash of color did not obscure the 30 year old canvas. It remained bright and alive.
The majority of these memories, when I tapped into them, evoked an audible ‘Donna’ sometimes loudly. I heard my voice. Calling out to her and to myself. Did the neighbors hear me? Did they judge me? Feel sorry for me? Give a shit? I considered the thoughts of others hearing my plaintive call to Donna and shrugged. I wanted to vocalize my fears, my failures, and my love. Calling to her out loud was my way of keeping her present with me. Alive for me to hold onto for as long as there were memories.
The collision of memories and the audible Donna were comforting. I was speaking to her in the moment. A sort of after death continuum of our narrative in spoken word. One word. It was a pastoral glade of memories that in its comfort would gnaw on me with doubts and fears.” From Age of Invisible written by Mark