Day 209: What I Wish for You

I'm part of a 30-day grief writing course.  Today's writing is in response to a prompt. What would I wish for others in this course- others who have lost? Or others who will follow this journey behind me?

September 25, 2014

I wish for you the most beautiful dress-

pink tulle and rhinestones and shiny satin.

I wish for there to be capped sleeves. Yes.

I wish for elbow-length gloves with little

pearl buttons. A clasp. Oh, let there be a clasp.

I wish for there to be a tiara, if you want one.

I wish for you teardrop earrings and a

necklace that you feel the absence of when

you take it off. I wish for you a sparkly ring.

And I wish for you shoes that click when you

walk and leave little bits of glitter each time

you take a step. I wish for you a trail of glitter.

I wish for you a jewel-encrusted hand mirror

to hold up to the sun. I wish butterflies of light

to dance around your world. I wish you light.

And I wish for your reflection to be one that

you recognize. One that you love. I’m so

pretty! You’ll say. I wish for you to twirl.

But most of all, I wish for you there, in your

perfectly relaxed grip, a pink magic wand

of exceptional quality, glowing brightly.

And there, kneeling at the swirling black

hole of your grief, I wish for you to reach

in with your wand, illuminating the dark.

Power restored. Memories sprung to life.

I wish for your baby to return to your arms.

Your partner’s lips to touch yours. I wish

for you to ride, windows down, in the heat

of the summer with your brother. Your wife.

Your mentor. Your spouse. Your love person.

I wish for it all to go back to the moment

before. Before the fall. Before the call. Before

the last goodbye and the last breath taken.

I wish for you to meet me, one day, quite

by chance, at a coffee shop or a local diner.
“Hello,” you’ll say. “This is my [loved one].”

“Nice to meet you both,” I’ll say. “And this is

Gareth.” I wish for us to shake hands like

we’ve never met. Like we’ve never lost.

And if this, if THIS, is not a possibility, then

I wish for you, I wish for me, to fall back into

it softly. Sweetly. The essence of what was.