Some days I feel like a raw, open wound. Not infected. Not festering. Just split wide open. A wound that no sooner scabs over than something causes it to tear and bleed again – and again.
The day before yesterday was raw. I don’t know why. It defies explanation. But it felt like one of the days early in the week immediately after Brandon’s death. My skin was crawling. My mouth felt as dry as a desert. My senses were set on hyper. Sounds, smells, sights were both more wonderfully vivid while also more distracting. It was a “jump on the bicycle” and head to “my” labyrinth at the new Smale Riverfront Park, but I heard Brandon’s voice in my ear warning me to be cautious, to be more aware just as I’d heard him when I jumped on my bike that first week. (He knows and enjoyed making fun of his mother’s klutziness, which was a factor long before I became familiar with “raw.” It’s so nice to feel and hear him voice his concern with that slightly sarcastic but loving edge on a bad day. And I am more careful when I hear him chiding me.)
"My" labyrinth at Smale Riverfront Park
“My” downtown labyrinth has become the Lansinoh® I use on these open wound days. There are no strategies for healing this wound, no interventions to avoid splitting it wide open over and over again, but walking the labyrinth soothes and that is enough for now.