(Life) Revisions

The morning of Aimee's death, when the sheriff's deputies were asking questions as part of their investigation, I found myself making verbal revisions, shifting from present tense to past tense automatically. I'd say something like: "She wears--wore--these shoes all the time."  My brain had begun the hard work of understanding the world without my sweet, sweet wife.
I stumbled through that awful day with too many verbal revisions. Aimee is gone. Aimee did those things in the past.

At night, after the boys are in bed and when I do most of my private grieving, I sometimes have little breakthroughs. Last week, when thinking about all the things she won't do anymore, I realized I don't have to say "I loved Aimee." This isn't a necessary revision--I still love her in the present tense, just as I still love my father even though he's been gone for nearly 23 years. If grief is the cost of loving, at least love doesn't have an expiration date.

Yesterday was Max's birthday. I struggled; I spilled over with tears and frustration and all sorts of awful heartache after the boys went to bed. I miss Aimee--again in the present tense--and love her dearly. The way I love her has changed, but not the love itself.

And that, even in the blackest moments, keeps me going right now.

...

Another revision I should mention:

The "buzz bomb" from my "Culture Clash" post was actually called an "Overlord". Thanks to Janae for setting the record straight.

It still was less than spectacular. (Sorry, Jason)

Short Fuse

You wanna talk about a short fuse? How about an illusion?

Start with me: age ten, one "phantom" bomb, and one lit punk. The driveway needs a little loose gravel. Yeah.

A lit punk still smells like freedom and youth. The ten-year-old Aaron drops the glowing tip of that thing on the fuse and zap--nothing. I wait, the smoke dances into the afternoon air, and my little heart revolts, trying to run without the rest of the body.

At ten, my feet are a bit big for the job, and clumsy me skids across the loose gravel, crash. Bloody knees, a little red badge of courage for summer fun.

And bang. The bomb explodes, sending little specks of sawdust skyward. God bless America. Thank China for the cheap explosives.