The Train

Have I forgotten him?

I’ve been on a train… a freight train. It’s been barreling down the tracks and I’ve barely been able to catch my breath. Days pass by and I catch moments here and there through the window. The window is always there, allowing me to see and engage from the inside but never allowing me to fully step in and be present. My world remains inside the train. It moves fast and I am unable to step off. Inside the train is hectic. My mind is scattered as I try to care for the others on the train.
The train is slowing. There are many days that it seems to pick up speed again, but for now, I can catch my breath. Sometimes, I even step off the train. I catch a glimpse of the sun and wonder where I am and what has happened.

How does one process grief while on a freight train barrelling through life? How does one process what we experienced. Was I even there? Was I able to step off the train to be fully immersed? I think so… I remember more of my time with him than I do of the time I spent riding the train, so I must have stepped off. I know she stepped off with me too. I remember her running around the hospital sticking stickers on Papa. I remember leaving her at that awful place where she felt lost but knowing I needed to be there with him – I wanted/needed time to feel/be there. I remember crying as I left that place feeling like I was abandoning a child and then somewhere along the way to the hospital those tears switching to what I knew was coming. My heart literally ripping in two. She saw me too. Not even two but she saw my heart breaking. Never complaining about being left but her expression reached out to me, begging me not to leave her again. I remember bringing her to his side. Watching as she asked him to wake up and then when she received no response, watching as she kissed him and said goodbye for the last time.

I remember feeling what it must feel like to be literally gutted. Sitting in the room on the oncology ward – hearing the doctor utter the words, too weak and cancelling chemo. It took my breath away, knowing from the expression on the doctor’s face that it was only a matter of time…and a short matter of time. This was happening. I remember the guitar and the music and his response when we thought he was already gone. I remember him telling us he loved us. I remember watching him take his last breath and feeling like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my heart open.
Did I step right back on the train after? How can I be so clear in the moment but the rest is foggy. Where did he go? He used to pop up on the train – he would come say hello when we were goofing around or I would catch a glimpse of him outside somewhere enjoying the flowers. Maybe overtime the train got too hectic and I was unable to look for him and so he stopped popping by. Maybe it became easier to push him away than to let him in.

I still ride the train a lot. Sometimes I get stuck on it. But other days I am able to step off and let the sun warm my face and I can breathe. I miss him and he isn’t there when I step off. I have spent too much time consumed with life on the train. And it hurts if I wander to look for him so I stay close to the train. It’s hectic but it’s safe.