|Easter (M.A. Reilly, 2019)|
Auden in Sonnet XVIII wrote, “We envy streams and houses that are sure...” I read the sonnet, in the Shoshanna Zuboff’s (2019) book, The Age of Survelliance Capitalism . The Auden line and Zuboff’s opening chapter have remained on my mind the last few weeks.
We envy that which is sure.
After Rob’s death, I tried to understand the meaning of that loss as if that meaning could be singular. It was not. It is not. I wondered, who was I without my husband, my best friend, my lover, business partner, fellow writer, and co-parent?
I have been waiting for the loss to leave, pack a bag and move on, far away from my heart. Tonight, I understood that the loss doesn’t leave. Rather, I have learned to live with it. And living with it reveals me as imperfect—showing those hard places that formed me most.
I wrote earlier how marriage allowed me to compose better versions of myself. Living with grief has shown me that those better versions were each imperfect.
Love never was a barter for perfection. Rather it was a house,
a stream that wound on
well after certainty