When I created this blog, I didn’t have to think of a title, it was just there. It was the first thing that came to my mind because it was exactly how I felt; completely hollowed out. It didn’t take me long to realize that I wasn’t done being hollowed out. I actually believed, in that moment, I couldn’t get any more empty and yet that is when the words began to flow, like my tears… or Doritos. “…we’ll make more.”
Breathing out and out and out until I cannot breathe out any more. My body starts to panic, my cells begin to starve, I could keep breathing out and out and out until my life passes from my body completely but then I gasp, against my will to continue breathing out until I am empty. And then I give up and just keep breathing in… and in… and in.
In this moment, hollow brings to mind deep and mysterious forests, dark and quiet woods. Dear but dirty little people wearing rustic, raggy clothing, cooking simple meals in kettles over fires. I find the thoughts and images they create to be comforting. As a child these ideas inspired endless hours of adventure. The hollows were places I actually wanted to be. The hollow of an old tree, the hollows inside bushes, the hollows between branches of the christmas tree, the tiny bathroom I would “sneak away” to write in my first 5-year diary complete with lock and key, pretending it was a hollow elsewhere, the hollow in the perfect limb of the apricot tree where I watched people walk by below never knowing I was there even when they were looking for me. Later, the hollows were nooks. A breakfast nook in my and my husband’s first house, a reading nook in the study downstairs. The nook that is my bed, where I sit now, surrounded by pillows and a canopy. These are the places I’ve always sought out, felt comfortable with, curled up in. Never have I actually *been* one of these places until now.
I look around and it’s very dark. It’s very quiet, but for this heart beating against my will, but for these sobs softened from screams of despair that echo from the walls at a distance I can’t quite fathom…returning and returning until they’re only whimpers and then I hear only the tears falling to the floor like a leaking pipe. There is nothing soft here, nothing cozy, nothing comforting. Not really.
Today is the 10th of March, 2014. I sat to write, having forgotten I’d written the above on November 10th, 2013. I had intended to post this on the one year anniversary of Dannica’s passing four months ago on November 14th. But I didn’t. Instead, I tied a heavy stone around my mind and my spirit and I tossed it into the sea and watched it sink until the bubbles no longer surfaced and then I walked away.