The Shadow of Death

Yesterday was month 4. I always know he is gone but the absence doesn't rule each day as it once did(but that also could be a lie because grief is unwieldy). Yesterday was a good day too. I went to the National African American Museum.I wasted time on social media. I looked at dogs on Petfinder. I took the Metro to Anacostia to see a production of The Vagina Monologues. I went to see Black Panther again. A good day especially for a Monday. Then a bit more than halfway through The Vagina Monologues it came. It being the heaviness of the loss. I looked to my left as the production was done theatre-in-the round style and saw a few men looking awkward. Then there it was, a memory.  About 4 years ago, I did a production of The Vagina Monologues at a local theatre in North Carolina. My dad came. He had heard of The Vagina Monologues but I think he came in that evening with trepidation. Many of us, especially men are uncomfortable with the word(even if it is anatomically correct) and all that it encompasses for women. My dad came. He said he liked it. It wasn't what he had thought. And just like that, I remembered my father in a heightened way and tears filled my eyes. It just hits you when you don't expect it. That's what everyone says. The lyrics of Good Grief are my heart song still and maybe always will be: Every minute of every hour, I miss you more. I miss you more. Amidst transitions and deep loss, loss that knocks you off balance. I think I'm doing alright. But then again what is alright, when you've lost the love that helped bring you into live, the love that raised you, the love that supported you, the love that saw in you more than you ever saw and maybe even more than that love ever admitted.  I wonder if I exist in the same world sometimes as those around me. Is there a shadow that follows me around? I wish both for that shadow and not for that shadow at the same time. The desire to be both silent and scream in a world that goes on existing as if death isn't real.