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I really like the wind. I love feeling it blow against me, combing through my hair. Sometimes when a big gust comes I angle my face up and close my eyes so I can feel it on my skin. I like opening up my coat, and letting the fresh air fill it like a sail. When I was little I would walk downtown with my sisters for ballet lessons. I always made them stop in the middle of the Main Street bridge so I could feel the wind off the river. Sometimes I daydream about how if I could catch the wind just right, it would lift me up and blow me away, and I’d be flying. (Of course, in this fantasy, after a thrilling ride through blue skies, the wind lets me gently down somewhere conveniently near my home, and it’s all joy and delight, not terror and shrieking hurricane winds and possibly getting slammed into a tree. Cuz, you know, that would be bad.) When I’m at home on warm, windy days I open all the windows, eager to catch the cross breeze. I love the sight of white curtains blowing in the wind, of grass rippling, even of the drifts of magnolia petals currently blown across the sidewalks from the storm last night. The wind always makes me feel better, more clear headed, more like things are alright with the world.

I’m glad it’s been windy the last few days. I’ve needed it. I haven’t been doing well for, well, almost three weeks now. Not that I expected things to be sweetness and light and skipping through fields of daisies. My brother died less than three months ago. Things aren’t going to be really ok for a long time, and that’s normal. I have to expect that. But you do expect things to get better little by little, the pain to gradually and almost imperceptibly ease until one morning you wake up and realize you don’t hurt quite so bad anymore. I didn’t expect things to get worse. But they did.

I think part of it was hitting the two month anniversary. I think I got through the first month on sheer adrenaline, plunging straight from planning the funeral into getting back into school full time. But after a while the adrenaline fades, and you start to realize on a deeper level that this isn’t a temporary crisis. He’s really gone. He’s not away at school or on a trip or any of the other things that make a person temporarily absent from your life. He’s really not in this world anymore, and there’s something so deeply wrong about that, nonsensical, like saying the sky is green, or that the EU has decided to cut off the tip of Italy’s boot and attach it to Portugal. There’s this little part of you that’s still waiting for someone to cry April Fools! It was just a joke – he’s been off visiting friends in Zimbabwe and he’ll be back next week. But it’s not a joke, it’s never going to be, and that’s hard.

So, yeah, things are rough these days. I have someone who’s helping me through this. She says that things will likely get worse before they get better, but they will get better. I just have to hang on until we get there. So I’m working on that. In the meantime, I like the wind. I like feeling it on my face, lifting my head so that it blows my hair back, and just for a moment, blowing my troubles away. And that’s good