On Tuesday morning I noticed the memorial for the 15 year old killed in the drive-by was removed. The only evidence remaining was spilled candle wax on the curb. It felt as though the City of Chicago was giving us all a gentle reminder to move on. The time to mourn was over; life continues onward.
That same morning I spoke with my brother about how I was feeling or rather wasn’t feeling. He assured me these feelings not only normal but expected after traumatic experiences. I felt a wave of relief overcome me.
The relief increased when a fearful confession to a coworker of how I had been feeling was expected. By the end of the day, I had two almost-but-not-quite panic attacks; a huge improvement over the day prior. Finally a night of restful sleep.
The next morning the phone rang out, cutting through my sleep. It took me a second to identify the sound and answer the call. My dad recounted his trip up north, sparing no details, working up to the reason for his call. My grandmother, his mother, passed away early that morning in her sleep.
She was eight-nine and her mind was taken over by Altzheimer’s. Even still, she would say, “Nothing to complain about!” when asked how she was doing.
A time to mourn again.