Five days.
I spent five days in bed, sleeping, crying or just thinking. I only got up to shower twice or to use the bathroom.
If I wasn’t upset, I was angry or just numb. Nightmares continued to haunt me, but it was the only time in which I could see River alive, even if it was only for a few brief seconds. So I kind of just welcomed them.
When she had died, it seemed to take away my will to live right along with my ability to feel like my life could be meaningful and worth wild.
Finn and Zane both tried getting me to eat, but both were mostly unsuccessful. I simply was not hungry. The thought of eating made me nauseous.
They also had made a few attempts to get me up and moving, which were also failures. They tried literally forcing me to get up by picking me up and carrying me out of the bedroom, they also tried being nice and trying to bribe me, they both begged once or twice as well. None of these methods were effective at all; they only resulted in me crying, screaming, or lashing out.
I honestly just saw no point in trying to move on without River.
But this morning was different from the past five.
It was mid morning and I was staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to recall and count the number of times River and I had kissed, when Zane came in with the book of women’s poetry.
“You need to read this.” He told me, sitting down next to me.
“What’s the point?” I asked, hardly glancing at him.
“The point is that I flipped to a random page of the book this morning and this is what I found,” he persisted, unfazed by my lack of interest. “Look, I am not one to believe in destiny and crap, but I swear to you that this is a message to you from River.”
I sit up, interested. “What does it say?”
“I think you should read it for yourself.” He placed the book in my lap.
And so I did; it was called “Do not stand on my grave and weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
When I finished reading the poem, I was crying, but not out of grief.
I swore I could hear her soft voice reading it to me, as her presence seemed to fill in the room. It was as if she was still with me and I suddenly grasped the poet’s words.
River was still with me even though she was not alive. She was watching over me and she would be angry and disappointed about my shut down over the past five days.
It’s not what she would have wanted for me. She would have wanted me to keep living my life but also, fulfill her dreams of escape and seeing the equality movement begin.
