Five minutes on my Auntie Liz’s couch. And a lot happened.
There’s no fancy way to tell this. So here goes.
Sunday night, during the Grammys, I received news of a dear friend—an unofficial sister, even—having passed away.
I had a huge cry on the couch.
Then I pulled it together. Turned back to the Grammys.
And Joni Mitchell came on. Both Sides Now. Oh no. The official ‘cry song’ of the last decade. Too fitting.
Then the gushing. The tears. The snot. So much salt and snot.
But my mucus didn’t feel right. It was metallic and red, and very weirdly warm.
It was my very first nose bleed.
So Joni is playing. I am bawling. And it’s happening.
A hemoglobin hydraulic hose spewing plasma all over the walls. I am bloodletting crimson pain over Joni’s song, and all over my aunt’s walls. A mess. A bloody mess.
We laughed, a little while later. Then I summoned a takeaway.
It occurred to me today. What a magnificent, physical manifestation of grief that was. What a human, messy way to feel for someone I loved. What a better way to feel heartache.
Let it flow.
This one’s for you, Fabi: