in the wake of death, and life

bleary-eyed, i watched that sherrif in colorado silently pull the steely strength out of himself. he desperately needed it to carry forward. to discharge his duties. i wondered. how do the strong and steely dispel their fear, grief and despair? he thought he hid it, i guess. thought that he swallowed it, right before he froze the grief on his face in a twisted contortion. but i could feel it. oozing thru the photons that sprayed from the flat screened beacon in this lair's living room. oozing. trickling. a gentle deluge. silent. unseen.

i felt it. raining down on me. and i let it. i thought of the girl he killed. 16. it made me think of my own. the one i gave up. 17 he will turn in 3 weeks. somewhere. he's lost to me. loss. i know that pain. but not really. these parents must also feel the outrage of innocence. i could not, only outrage at myself. and ... it reminded me that losing a loved one to death is not necessarily the most painful way to lose someone. what of the survivors? the ones who were 'sexually traumatized?' i think of connie francis, that 60s songstress who survived a brutal rape and basically lost herself in its traumatic aftermath. she lives, but her soul and her essence do not. and i wonder ... what of the survivors?

and then i see the mind ripping grief pressed into the lines of terri irwin's face. her steely, square jaw seemed to melt right there, before barbara walters, as she spoke of the moment she found out about steve's death. and the sobs. gutteral. primordial. soul eviscerating. as she spoke of her children. she wanted to suspend that moment when she knew. and her children did not yet. bindy, skipping. contented, like any well adjusted child. unware that her world is about to crash, with her in it. it chills me thinking of this. of this moment right before death touches you. for the first time. surreal.

image originally uploaded by melanosis