I remember as a girl I’d sit with my dad and our radio tuned to AM stations. It was late at night when interference was minimal and we could hear stations from places far away.
Something about the clarity and the airwaves allowed us to receive signals from places we couldn’t during other times.
It was peaceful, clear, and clean.
As I stumble through the tangled stages of grief, I’m anything but clear. Everything is filled with static, hearing someone say one thing and another saying something different.
So many people. So many voices. So many emotions crashing around inside and I can’t seem to undo this knot called grief.
The pinball of feeling that bounces along the sides, the middle, and zig-zags it’s way around all over again.
I wish for the days when I’d listen to the radio, hear clear voices, and know for that moment I was safe with my father. I had nothing but crisp night air to breathe. A single voice and a dad who didn’t leave.
I know in time it will smooth, become clearer, or perhaps I’ll simply learn to accept the anarchy that is grief.
In the meantime, I breathe in peace for the present. And a hope for the future. đź’™
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