My darling Alex,
As walked among the trees this morning, checking the irrigation and drip-feed sprinklers, I missed you so bad that I had to cut short my walk. It was unbearably hot outside, the sun already high and not a cloud in the sky. Mid-summer noon on our finca is not for the faint-hearted, as you well know, and today was no exception.
I stepped into the cool, darkened house and poured myself some water. The cicadas’ song filtered through the windows and other than that, all I could hear was the kitchen clock tick the seconds as time stood still. I was alone in the kitchen yet so very much with you.
Memories of you are never far from my mind. But it’s the actual feeling of you that never leaves me. I seem to carry you inside of me, like an unborn child. You are everywhere I go. At times it feels good to have you there because it’s as if you form part of my present; at other times the reality of your death crashes through the illusion, and I have trouble breathing. There’s no telling which way it’s going to go.
A moment can be lightened by feeling your presence, and another be dismal and heartbreaking because the fact that you are gone hits me anew. It’s exhausting, Alex. Mothering you now you are dead is tough. I can’t tell if I am doing it right, even as I know how crazy that sounds because you aren’t here to tell me.
So this morning was one of those mornings: when the mask I wear for the benefit of the world and my own protection begins to choke me and I have to take it off. When that happens I have to be alone, I have to leave the world, I have to simply be.
The very heat that rose up from the soil burnt my lungs and stung my eyes. Within seconds I realized that the mask would fall away in front of those who did not understand and before that happened, I needed to find refuge in the house.
So I left the farm workers, told them to take a break, and came back inside.
But I know that no matter where I go, the feeling stays with me once it starts. All that changes is my being able to be in the moment with you. And I need that, I really, really need that.
As I sipped the cool water I allowed myself to float into the past. I remembered how you used to complain about the heat as you flopped on the sofa in the patio. It was as if you were there and I could see you fall asleep, the dog having climbed onto the cushions to be with you. Your scent, your energy, your laughter, they filled my mind. Your voice rang inside my head, the way you teased me, called me Madre, made me laugh.
This is so shit, Alex. It’s total crap having to mourn you. It’s as shitty as it gets.
© Katja Faber 2018