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The Single Thing Lying Beneath Grief, the Bear
No one should live in a world of perpetual death
Author’s note: this is a retelling of imagery associated with a session of Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) used to treat complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
The sun through the aspen leaves mimics afternoon rain dappled throughout the forest. The muffled calls of birds and gentle shifting of thin, dry branches accompany the sound of my footfalls.
I’m alone and lonely in all the ways I’m always alone and lonely, though something watches me from behind. It’s menacing, terrifying, but I don’t feel this, only know it.
I watch my body from above as it moves through the springtime growth of mountain flowers. I don’t feel my fingers in my hair as I brush it away from my forehead because I am outside of myself the way part of me is always outside of myself.
Instead, I recall my mother’s description of our foreheads, my brother and mine. “It’s a sign of intelligence,” she’s said of the open expanse, my brother's steep widow’s peak above the tight, cascading black curls that fall almost all the way to his shoulders.
My hair is dark the way his is dark but wavy instead of curly. The waves have intensified over the years and I’m thirteen…
