What grief takes, while still giving

i can't expect to sit or wait around to die for the rest of my life

Coming around, almost like the seasons.
I’ve always heard about the, “Seasonal Mood Swings”
—from what I understand, it’s the winter months that for lack of better words…fuck people up, the most.

And then in me, and lately…
It feels like every change, better in—passing of seasons.
Is a tug on my heart strings.

Now in a process of,

Is it me?
Or the weather?
Is it even my fault—sometimes,
I feel like playing into it is a fault—but the sheer aspect of it, could never be.

I’ve been thinking back to 19 year old me lately too, and there are lots of differences but still, the most poignant moments lie—in my late Step-father’s passing.
And with all my knowledge I have now, it was a flu that went bad.

Blood that went septic over time, so naturally…with what is a routine stint in a heart artery.
The blood then, rushing through, rushing in—a brief moment of warmth he spoke on. Into all of that septic blood hitting—and for that,

Flatlines follow.
Fast, painless,
And an even brutal reality to still feel, a warm body in him on the table he had just passed on—to me, that chill will never go away.
A warm body, my warmest figure—I could call “Mine”.

Gone.

It’s been Six years since then, New Years Eve.
The night of his passing—I feel like that will forever be plagued by a memory of a warm body still…no longer here.

Now,
I can go on, and on about my traumas, the relationships that break following it—death.
Even my own near-to-death experiences, sometimes it gets too close to home...him.

But in his sense, he funded everything,
From the same PC i’ve been using for 6 years (still working flawlessly),
To music equipment,
to love,
to an aptitude for others,
for walking into a room,
and seeing everyone’s head turn 180 degrees, like an owl—just to give him (and by proxy, me).

A warm introduction but better in, a meaningful conversation to whatever stranger he had never met.
I’m still convinced there are no strangers in his eyes.
Championing that now, is what I try and take from his eyes.

There’s always a reason why people seem to pass, alive or dead.
We live through the dead, and the livelihoods of others’ just seem to…fade away. Still,
Like a death.

Treating our tramuas, the bleaks of an iris that turn white.
When we feel, we must.
I’ve been taught to look at most everything in a life as a natural grieving process. For—We are all ever changing…shedding a skin, molds, bounds that hold us up.
So,
when I look out into a tragic tragedy unfolding—suddenly.
It’s not always filled to the brim with careless thought, I’ve seen it better in

Head forth, head on,
Honoring.

Honoring those who’s mere presence in their short time here.
Can be just the catalyst,
If only in—to get up again in the morning
And then in,

Making this place a better rock for those who still have their time—’to wait’

Love regardless,
(loving the new 2hollis)

-alice

xoxo