returning the call

yesterday would have been my grandma’s birthday.

and since last september, and the weekend she died, I’ve been choked with the remembrance that I picked up the phone, but didn’t call, thinking that my goodbyes had already been said properly, months before. and only knowing after it was too late that they hadn’t.

so, last night (and it only returns to me now, after reading another’s words) I took too much trazodone. and, like so often, its heavy narcosis wrought intricate dreams. of me, and others, awoken by her presence, close like a winter blanket. and of the assurance that such loss might be broken, beyond words and time.

I still think a child’s thoughts. but I’m learning, slowly, more than ever.