Primer For One Left Behind
A / Anyone
You want to become anyone, a head placed on any random body. At the county fair, faces from the crowd fill the cut-outs where heads of farmers or cows should be. The souvenir photograph, a reminder of a new identity. You want to go into witness protection, become someone else, anyone else, an image the mirror recognizes. This is normal.
B / Buried
The ground feels heavy as it presses against the wooden box. A weighted blanket calms your twitching, silences your dreams of Sunday picnics at the beach. It is peaceful in the dark. Later, when the dirt softens in the spring, beams of light expose blades of your tender flesh. You begin to feel everything, the slightest breeze and you are weeping.
C / Coupled
Ann and Mark. Barbara and John. Heather and Bill. Mary and Jack. Sue and Mike. The chair removed from the table is the chair where he would sit. His absence flows, the wine they drink. You are full, cannot stomach another drop.
D / Divergence
You are here and not here; there and not there. You were somewhere once. Now, your mind and body reside on different planes. Each foot on a different tightrope and the oranges you once happily juggled splatter on the ground. At some point, the path is chosen for you. The atlas slams shut.
E / Emblem
You will see a woman on the street wearing the emblem, the ring on a chain around her neck. Do not look. Your eyes will be blinded by the reflection of your own sorrow.
F / Forgetting
Your friends move on; they have parties and barbecues. You are invited but do not attend. They go to work; you sleep on the couch. At the family dinner you feel obligated to attend, you stay in the bathroom crying, and they don’t seem to notice. You are tied to never forgetting and yet feel completely forgettable.
G / Grief
The carousel has five staged horses, the ride will not stop, and you refuse to jump on. Eventually, the reigns will snap. You have no choice.
H / Hermit
You seal yourself in the basement with potions and spells. No prayer, no conjuring, no chant, nothing can lift this curse. But you keep trying.
I / Invisible
You are confident in your powers to become a puff of smoke, footprints leading in circles, no beginning, no end. Nothing to disturb the order. Nothing to elicit a thought or a memory. If you can’t see the door, does it lead anywhere?
J / Jury
Everyone’s expectations will exhaust you. “I am guilty of everything,” you say. Especially because you would have gladly traded your life for his. Nothing anyone says will dissolve this feeling you etched on his headstone.
K / Kind
His death is like an x-ray, shows what kind of heart each person has. Someone will travel miles to sit with you. One holds her own heart with icy fingers. Her anger at you will not melt.
L / Likeness
You will see him everywhere, driving or in a park, but he is always just out of reach. One night, in a dark room, you watch headlights move forward in the driveway. “That’s it,” you think, “he’s just been away.” And when the doorbell rings, you know he’s never coming back.
M / Manage
Their words are the sounds of popping corn, simultaneous, from all directions. The violent kernels strike your heart. You can manage these opinions of what you should or should not do with one simple phrase: “I’m not ready yet.” Say it often. Practice it in the mirror. Let it become your mantra, your shield, “I’m not ready yet.”
N / Non-Existent
You had a life before him, but that life is gone, erased, bleached clean, and you can never return. And your life with him has crumbled and blown away, a dandelion without seeds. You will look for a place between then and now where you can reside.
O / Ordinary
Everyone longs to be something more. Not the leftover roast beef from last Tuesday’s dinner. You were something more, once. Now, you are Extra Number Five, Anonymous Donor, Current Resident. You will learn to live in that ordinary space, of color fading in the sun.
P / Private
Do not turn yourself inside out for them. Do not let them see the seams, the safety pin holding up the hem, the boning trying to hold you up, the elastic trying to hold you in. They will never approve of the artistic decisions you make to refashion your life.
Q / Quiet
It was a house where doors were never locked, where friends entered in comradery and his family entered in judgement. Now, when friends fly south for the winter, his family uses their master key to shatter your quiet. Change the locks and don’t let anyone in.
R / Recourse
There is no one to blame except, perhaps yourself. The repetition of “if only,” the different scenarios run through your mind on a continuous loop. You will slowly learn there is no reason for the cruel toss of the coin. You did not cause this by wanting to sleep or by waking up. It is hard to believe there is nothing you can do, no revenge, no recourse, but you will keep trying.
S / Shiva
The people keep coming. Many are strangers. Wrap yourself in Teflon so you cannot hear the voices, feel the hands clawing at you. Nothing sticks, become the perfect fry pan. At the end of the day, shake out your black metal cape, place it on the coat rack, and get ready for tomorrow.
T / Thoughts
Scrub your thoughts clean. Think nothing. Feel nothing. Wear dark glasses so no one will notice the shades of denial in your eyes. Rinse and repeat.
U / Unknown
No one knows how to do this, how to move forward, one foot in front of the other. No one understands the cadence, the speed of the race, the expected pace. You are the runner who quits the marathon at the eight-mile mark. You move to the side, bent over, hands on your knees. You cannot catch your breath. You do not want water. You don’t want to go on. You imagine the unknown track ahead and want to turn around, go home, and go to sleep.
V / Veil
Their platitudes are poorly disguised attempts at self-comfort. Lift your mourning veil. See them for who they are. What they say has nothing to do with you.
W / Wife
You were a wife once. The label ‘widow’ strangles you and you can never slip your head from the noose.
X / Xerox
When you are in the company of others, keep the original you in a safety deposit box. The Xerox captures what you want to portray. It will get smudged, wrinkled, and tear-stained. You will remain untouched.
Y / Year
One year.
Five years.
Twelve years.
Grief takes as long as it takes. You are not on anyone’s schedule.
Z / Zoo
It will be like feeding time at the zoo, the animals howling for their feast. Everyone will want something, the left sock, the broken lawn mower. His ex-wife, his mother, his brother, they all will tear at his flesh, pissing on things they once relinquished. Tell them to leave the bones so you can suck out the marrow. He chose you.
-Millie Ford
Millie Ford has returned to writing after a successful career in integrated retail marketing. She received a Master of Science degree in advertising from Northwestern University’s Medill School of Journalism. Her writing is known for its unique imagery, powerful metaphors, and investigation of complex emotions. In addition to writing, Millie is passionate about animal rescue. She volunteers at a local animal shelter to help stray animals get adopted into loving homes. She has been published in The Write Launch, and in two anthologies, Storytellers’ True Stories About Love, Volume 2, by Chicago Story Press, and Turning Points Life’s Twists and Turns, by LifeStory Publishing. Millie lives in the Chicagoland area with her rescue cat, Isaac.