With the approach of the 5 month mark on Monday I have to do something with the memorial cross at the side of the road. Our wonderful city beaurocrats have kindly posted a notice informing me it has to be removed by the 16th. Hurry up and grieve, they might as well say.
I have tried repeatedly to remove the cross and flowers. I'd like to pot it and do something with it, though I have no idea what. I like the idea of having some of the soil where Craig came to rest. If I had a garden, I'd put it there.
Unfortunately I can never quite bring myself to do it. And not owning a shovel certainly makes things difficult (imagine the poor bedraggled widow on her hands and knees, scooping the dirt into a flower pot on the side of the road with her bare hands, sobbing, filthy, scaring the poor neighbours driving by).
Today when I stopped to attempt (and fail) to take care of it I noticed something.
The tire tracks from Craig's car, skidding their way into the ditch, cutting an ugly scar away from the pavement... they have tiny little shoots of brightly colored grass growing in them. The broken pieces of metal and rubber and the shattered remains of glass are slowly being covered and filled in by fresh summer grass and flowers.
It's almost as though nature is slowly reclaiming the accident scene, reminding me that healing can happen no matter how bad the injury.
And that's exactly what it feels like for me. All that shattered glass, the blood, the pain, the horror of what has happened... it is all there, sitting just below the surface. But slowly, despite myself, I am healing. New shoots of grass growing in and taking over.
Those broken pieces will always be there and they will always be broken.
But eventually you find ways to allow life back in.