Sometimes healing just can’t come until there’s a body until the thing plays itself out from beginning to end until the whole of it has rotted away leaving only the dust it made which can’t be tracked Because how would you know? How would you know healing itself was finally dead and buried, hope all dried not even blown with the wind but just absent-minded and forgotten drifted to the ground from limbs on cloudy days But then one day it just shows its face in a way there was no preparing for no way to expect or plan or even pray And for some reason that you cannot understand you throw your arms around it saying I thought you were dead I forgot you were dead and tears of relief slide down your cheeks You, tasting salt, wiping your face Say I didn’t know I had missed you How could you imagine that it was the complete forgetting of itself that brought grief to its knees a new prayer to its lips that said everything is new again The dust rich and black with the death of your hope has poked its head above ground like the first daffodils in snow But the most unexpected part the part most beautiful and sacred and tender is that you forgot completely The me you had created in your mind before forgetting is also dead and buried not even enshrined in memory at all In her place, you’ve resurrected your daughter the one real, fleshy with the heart broken open the one living without you all this time
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