Ellie is very careful when she pours milk on her cereal. She is cautious. She pours so slowly, tilting the carton ever so slightly to make sure she doesn’t spill.
She tipped a 4 litre jug once. That was the Epic Kitchen Flood of 2020, which we only we speak of in hushed voices.
Lately my words feel like Ellie’s milk.
Slow. Cautious.
Just a slight tip - because if I tilt too far, my words will spill across the page in a flood I can’t control.
***
I lose a lot of things in the span of a month. Nathan jokes that he has to keep an eye on me because I often get distracted. You never know when you’re going to find car keys in the dog food bin or a cell phone in the refrigerator. I work full time, I “mom” full time - it is what it is!
But loss has taken on a new meaning for me in the past month. On August 16, I lost my dad.
Truthfully, I feel like he was lost long ago, for reasons I won’t go into. We never had much of a relationship.
I feel guilty for grieving -
But I am still grieving the loss.
The loss of what was, the loss of what never was, and even the loss of what could have been.
***
And I feel I’m at a loss for words.
Either they spill across the page in a nonsensical flood or they drip - drip - drip in halting pen scratches as I search for what I want to say.
***
When I lose my keys, my family helps me look for them until they’re found. The same goes for my cell phone or my wallet. But when I lose my words, life continues on around me for everybody else while I’m still scrambling to make sense of it all.
***
But I’m pouring. Slowly and cautiously, with just a slight tip to see where this takes me.