Dressing Room

I have spent hours watching those I love attempt the word goodbye in various dress.

Dress it up in a cold place with pews not designed for reverence, where the staccato of the receptionist’s high heels against tile taps out the message that this is formal grief. Dress it for around the house, where nervous friends who don’t know, cannot know what to say flit between vegetable trays in the dinning room and drinks on the patio. Dress it down at a tea house as you watch Jasmine Dragon Pearls unfold their legs in scalding water and pretend that small talk is all that’s going on. Dress it for long walks on the beach at night when the sand looks like moonscape and white noise of the waves sets your tempo as you cry in the shadow of a lifeguard tower.

What are these goodbyes? We do not know how to hold them, how to console them, how to tell them it will be okay. With each goodbye we are tired and weary, searching for that moment where we can begin to shape our lives again and wondering what form we will choose.

Then there is the long drive through the San Joaquin Valley. Then there is the house filled of memory and echo. And then this too shall pass.

2 Comments on “Dressing Room”

  1. #1
    Pat Grady Says:

    Just got back from a goodbye. One person there said I was enjoying it all a little too much. With that, I knew I had struck the perfect chord with the departed – irreverant, malcontented nonconformist who often loved to irritate the falsely righteous while flashing her inexplicable-to-them sideways grin. Distant, whispering rimshot rang out inside my head, reflecting both her distance and ever irremovable presence… making this goodbye just a completely new angle on an old, welcomed hello.

  2. #2
    Symph Says:

    I like this.

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