Still at the Start

Sleep came after 3am. Not before I cried. Watched BBC. Tried to pray. Finally succumbed after 10 minutes of Kid vs Kat. I dreamt Mama. Can't remember what it was about. Or even if it was about her.

I question the tradition of the dead now. Try to make sense of it. Can she really hear me if I ask her to forgive me? If the coffin is heavy, does that mean she hasn't? Was my failure to visit her after her discharge on her mind when she died? Had she given up because she thought I'd given up? I don't like wakes. Can't remember if I ever did. I can't remember lots of things these days.

A butterfly came into my house the day she died. It's been there ever since. I tried talking to it. It didn't seem too interested. I cried harder. I worry about it dying and the implications if it did. Why did it come? Folklore says it's Mama come to visit me.  Did she miss me so bad that even death cannot keep her away. I hope she sees my sorrow.

I"m at work and my colleagues are the same. A bit noisy. Poorly dressed. A bright pink bra peeks through the thin white shirt worn by another. I'm well dressed. As if this somehow this makes me better than them. Coldplay"s "Fix You" is playing in my ear. It makes my sadness worse. No one has ever volunteered to fix me. Some have tried when I asked. Had to tell them I'm broken. How can you tell a clock's broken but can't see a human's not keeping time?

It's lunch time. My husband's coming to get me. We'll have lunch. And talk about work, and money , and bills. And I'll smile when he farts. He always does. We won't talk about Farida. He, because he doesn't know how. Me because I don't want to scare him.