“I’m sorry you’re having a bad memory day,” she said, with love and compassion in her voice.

And without hesitation I said, “thank you” and nothing else. I accepted my friend’s words for what they were. Love. Compassion. Intention.

Because in truth, it wasn’t a bad memory day. It was just an everyday memory day. Nothing about remembering him is bad. Nothing. My god, the laughter and love and every fucking moment, and then that one…when the call came, “I am sorry to inform you.”

We’re supposed to label that with words?

How can anyone be expected to know what to say when I don’t even know what to feel?

“I’m sorry you’re having a bad memory day.”

Deep breath. Thank you.

Thank you for loving me and caring about me and trying so hard to say all the right words to help me feel better for something that no one is prepared for. For something that no one should ever have to be prepared for. Thank you for trying so hard to say the words that don’t exist.

The magic words do not exist. I hope they never do. Because words aren’t big enough to understand. But feelings do. And that’s the thing. The irony is not lost on me. I’m a writer. Of all people, I understand the nuance of word selection. And sometimes there are no words and that’s okay. It’s actually always okay. The depth of love and loss and memories cannot always be described with words.

Words haven’t caught up yet. They’re not big enough. Deep enough. Everything enough. And it’s completely and totally okay.

I think if there were words to explain the way it feels to have your heart die inside you but you still have to live and breathe and walk in the world and go to work and be with people it would somehow make it worse.

It’s just that there aren’t words to explain and that’s okay. Because the feelings are there which means the words don’t have to be. The words simply haven’t caught up yet.

 

You were bigger than words.

You still are.

You always will be.

And no, the memories, our memories, are not bad.