An artist’s drawing shows a large stellar-mass black hole pulling gas away from a companion star. Image Credit: NASA E/PO, Sonoma State University, Aurore Simonnet
I’m doing fine, you see. Mostly cheerful. Not sure I’m even depressed anymore. If I am, it’s mildly, cheerfully depressed. I can live with that.
But then I think about stuff I’m doing and stuff I might do and whatever that stuff is, there is one person who is not here to enjoy it. To cheer me on. To be proud of me. And my heart breaks again.
Dad’s death is like a black hole, something that could suck me in, pulverize me if I let it. The black hole is behind me, always just out of sight. I acknowledge it, but I do not invite it to come forward. I’ll let it lurk, hoping that its stinky breath does not land on my shoulder.
I put my blinders on. If I don’t think about the black hole, it can’t be there, right?
Okay. It’s there.
I don’t think it can really hurt me.
One night as I drifted off to sleep, Dad’s face popped up [looking young and handsome and impish like the photo to the right], like he was saying “Hellew.”
I won’t lie, it FREAKED me out. It made me wake right up. And made me laugh.
Maybe the Black Hole is a wave of laughter that’s trying to catch up with me.
Maybe it’s joy.
That seems to be a bit much to ask.
Let’s say it’s joy.
It’s joy. And when I’m ready for it, all I have to do is stay still. It will wash over me, like a warm bath.
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