mourning

Had I Not Known You

~ Natal Galvan ~ Leave a comment

Dearest,

An old wound stirred today. Your name was spoken in passing, and though I answered with the composure expected of me, a truer, quieter ache unfurled beneath the surface. There are chambers of the heart I keep locked from the world, and you reside in one of them still. I guard it fiercely, for it contains remnants of you that I cannot bear to expose to careless hands.

Your memory sent me wandering through the remnants of your life as it appears in the public sphere. I ventured down but a single avenue, and even that proved more than enough. To any stranger, those pages would reveal nothing of the soul I knew, nothing of the depth, the contradictions, the warmth, the shadows. It was as though the record of your existence had been scrubbed clean, leaving only a hollow likeness, a figure made of surface and suggestion. Had I not known you myself, I might have mistaken you for one of those flimsy characters we encounter in this modern age, all outward show, with no hint of the true spirit within.

They tell me you left a message for me, and the confirmation of it today unsettled me more than I expected. I cannot say whether it is true, nor whether truth even matters in such things. Yet a small part of me longs to know what your final words to me might have been. There is sorrow in realizing that the chapter we once shared feels, at times, as though it never existed, as though it were a scene dreamt up in some forgotten novel, lingering only in the margins of memory. And yet it was one of the most vivid experiences of my life.

I loved you with a depth I scarcely understood then, and the knowledge that I shall never again exchange even the smallest jest with you, never again pause to wonder whether to continue our conversations or let them fade for fear of entanglement, brings a heaviness I cannot easily name.

Sometimes I weep for what was lost. Other times, I weep for what was gained: the understanding that something larger than either of us was at work, even if I have yet to see its full shape. I imagine you see it clearly now, wherever you are. I, meanwhile, remain here, still wondering what might have been, could have been, or should have been, though I know I ought not dwell on such thoughts.

I cannot deny that I miss you still. I cannot deny that some part of me longs for a thread of connection, however faint. Special people insist that you linger near, that you visit in ways unseen, but I feel nothing of the sort, and so I do not know what to believe.

And so I sit beneath these ashen winter skies, watching the snow descend in its solemn procession, each flake a small benediction upon the earth. In that hush, I find myself hoping, not with desperation, but with a kind of reverent longing, that you have at last discovered the peace that eluded you here. The world moves on with its usual indifference, yet there are moments when the veil feels thin, when the cold air carries a tenderness I cannot name, and I am reminded that grief is simply love that has nowhere left to go. If you can hear such things where you are now, then know this: the memory of you has not dimmed, nor has the quiet truth of what little of life was shared. It endures, even in the silence, even in the snow.

The Quiet Reckoning

~ Natal Galvan

“Daddy! I need help!”

A cry pierced the air, a symphony of irritation and mild alarm; it heralded no menace, only the onset of a deluge of tears that dared to breach the ramparts of my heart, long fortified. There, in her vibrant fuchsia chariot, the little girl and her companion sat, teetering on the edge of too-grown for such whimsical rides. Midway through their suburban odyssey, the spirited steed faltered, its electric lifeblood drained, leaving dreams momentarily stranded.


“DADDYYYYYYY!” He was still inside, and these young ladies had a block to drive.


Suddenly he bolts out of the house as if he had been catapulted but some unseen force, hops down the four small steps, landing on the sidewalk with a WAP! Within seconds he makes his way down the sidewalk and around the back of the Jeep. Grabbing onto the back, he begins to run, pushing them down the sidewalk and sending them all into laughter.


This is the moment that I burst into tears.


It dawned on me then, the stark realization that the bond I yearned for with my father was a dream unfulfilled, now lost to time. A year and a half had passed since his departure. His health had always been fragile, leading to numerous scares, but our estrangement made these moments less poignant. In truth, he had been absent from my life; thus, his passing did not leave a void.
On the day of his passing, my tears were not for the loss of a beloved father, for our love had never blossomed. Instead, I felt a peculiar sense of curiosity. Visiting him a week before, I saw a man unknown to me. He lay silent, eyes closed, hands twisted in pain or discomfort, his mouth agape. Caretakers attended to him, wiping away drool, moistening his lips, offering water through a sponge.


A solitary encounter with him became memorable when I played a song from my childhood from the movie, “An American Tale,” which we cherished. His reaction was unexpected—his face contorted, tears flowed, and he emitted sounds of deep distress.


Before me was a stranger, a man whose life had barely brushed against mine. I didn’t know his favorite color. I did not know his favorite food. I didn’t know what genre of movie he preferred. I knew little of him—his likes, dislikes, or passions—save for his love of music and women. Whether his feelings for us were born of love or guilt, I could not discern.


I’m not going to say that he never tried, but there were certain wounds too deep, etched onto the soul of my being that wouldn’t allow for that to fully happen. There were rare occasions in which I had been the one to try. I’d reach out to him with a plan of action. We’d talk for hours going over what our lives had been up to that point and sprinkling in how we had to try to fix it, this, us. We’d hang up the phone, I’d feel light, and accomplished. That bit of motivation would then be followed up with silence. He would disappear and we wouldn’t speak for what would be for a couple of years after that. This would be our pattern until the day he died.


As a reader, I was aware of the potential regret of not connecting with him, a sentiment echoed by my family. Yet, now that he is gone, it is not regret that weighs on me but a profound disappointment—a longing to experience the sorrow that eludes me, the natural grief of a child for their father.


For months after he died, I would anxiously wait for the moment everyone had been warning me about. The moment of missing him, of yearning to hear his voice, or to hold his cold hands (his hands were always cold- “Cold hands, warm heart” he’d say!) but that moment never really came. I would try to sit in silence and see if I could feel his presence. I’d try my hardest to pay close attention to my dreams to see if maybe he’d visit me there. I soon realized I was reverting to childhood, always waiting for him, wanting him to visit, always being met with disappointment. So, I gave up again like I had years back.


Perhaps I won’t grieve as I did upon witnessing my neighbor, his offspring in tow, navigating a bubblegum-pink Barbie Jeep under the somber March skies. Yet, there’s solace in the breakthrough, a quiet epiphany embraced in solitude. It was a moment graced with a tender reflection of him, untainted by even a whisper of bitterness.

Losing A Buddy: Pets

~ Natal Galvan

I knew that the passing of my 19 yr old dog was imminent. I braced for it, probably coming to terms with it much earlier than most would have. When I got my cat Stella, I figured he would be such a support. And he was…for 3 months and then he, too, died.

There are things that I still cannot get used to, and I never realized how hard it truly would be. Not just normal routines now broken, such as daily feedings and walks. Or calling out for them randomly just to hear their paws against the floors coming out towards you. Or even hearing their name out loud, because now, there isn’t any of that either. But, for instance, I notice that I now leave a pile of clothes at the foot of my bed, something I’ve never done before. You could always find Stella there at the very end of every night until the moment he felt me stir awake in the morning. It’s a weird feeling not feeling his big, warm body there against my toes when I’m stretching out. I can only expect that is the very reason why I’ve now been randomly leaving piles of whatever where he once laid.

I now always see movements in my peripheral where I felt like my dog once walked. It’s almost like I see a furry, white, blurry ball of cotton moving around. I look, and for a split second, I see her staring up at me, head cocked to the side, wondering who knows what. But that’s a mirage. She’s not there, nor will she be. It’s like my mind and body are still catching up to what my heart has come to already accept.

I knew that losing a pet would be hard. Losing both was soul crushing. Sometimes life feels a little empty, as if I no longer have a real purpose to be stable anymore. I’ve been filling up my time with a bit more of me time, which falls in alignment with winter and hibernation season. I’ve gotten to go on a couple extra little adventures and have also done a bit of splurging on myself. I hadn’t realized how much money it took raising my babies. Yet, none of that is comforting in moments when I wish so bad they were back here and annoying the shit out of me. Stella always bumping his fuzzy, soft-ball sized head against my hand any time I wrote. Melita barking at me to toss her the toy she only brought halfway towards me.

People ask me all the time, “Am I ready for another dose of pawppy love??” Sure. There’s nothing like it. But I’m not searching. I have a feeling my next four legged best bud is going to find me, so in the mean time, I’m just here hanging out, getting used to the new norm until it no longer is. It is obvious that I will never forget my two little beanies and that the love I hold for them will live in me forever. There’s talk about a rainbow bridge at the end of this short journey, and that’s where we reunite with all of those we love who have also met the end of their journey, that’s including our beloved pets. Not that I’m rushing, but I look forward to the day I get to bury my face in theirs, enjoying their company once again.