The Smudge is Life

Today, I cried.

Sobbed actually. 

I had to pull my car over and just release. 

In a year of big changes, I haven’t fully processed any of them. 

And today was my final day with possession of the rental house of 9+ years. 

All weekend long I kept telling myself,”Just keep moving”. 

There was so much to do and I wasn’t sure if time was on my side. 

With the help of so many incredible friends, who offered support in a myriad of ways, we beat the clock. 

And I held my shit together. 

Until I saw the wall behind where the dining table used to be. And I saw the smudge. 

And I lost it. I had to walk away. 

Callie created that smudge. Over years and years of hiding behind that table, squeezing past chairs and people, and anything in between, she created this smudge on the wall. 

And I felt her absence all over again. 

And then I realized that I wouldn’t have any of those reminders anymore. Nothing to jog my memory and no possibility of her creating new ones. 

And I lost it. 

I find myself apologizing for my tears, in a way that seems almost ridiculous. Why does the natural expression of my grief require an apology? And does it? Or have I been conditioned to apologize for my intensity, my rawness, those moments that might make others uncomfortable? 

Tears are just another honest display of emotions, much like laughing or smiling. And I’m generally quick to share laughter and smiles. Tears are just an organic expression of an over-abundance of emotion.

So why not tears? Can’t tears be like my smudge on the wall?  Real. Authentic. Dichotomous in their beauty. 

Because honestly,  isn’t that what life really is all about?

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