Losing My Sparkle
A year of loss

For days we searched the barns and the woods, fearing we would find her stiff corpse. But even worse, we are left with the matter unresolved, not knowing what happened to our sweet grey kitty, and assuming the worst. Each morning, she would always faithfully greet me with the same incessant meow as she weaved in and out of my legs, almost knocking me over on my way to dump food in her bowl. Today, as I finally disposed of Sparkle’s bed and food bowls from the front porch, I sobbed uncontrollably as I was letting go of her and everything she meant to me.

But as the tears flowed, I felt a temptation to jump into the river of sorrow and follow it downstream and just wade in the sadness of this year which has cost me so much. It’s hard to count all the losses because remembering them causes the grief to rise up like a wall—a tidal wave that looms just over top of me at all times, threatening to crash down on top of what’s left of my little fragile world down here in the shadows. I walk with caution these days, choosing my words carefully, stepping lightly and testing the ground beneath me, and I notice those around me that are also walking at a slower pace, willing to take that risk to look me in the eye even for just a moment because they are hurting too.

Perhaps their son moved far away with their grand baby and they are also feeling the ache in their bones to want, no, need, to hold that child close but all they can do is go to bed each night with the aching pain. And maybe they too wake up in the morning and the first thing they hear is the sound of their best friend’s voice laughing-—a memory from before the glioblastoma, that wicked brain tumor, ate her brain and took her life away from here so that her laugh would never be heard again. You never know what a stranger might be thinking when you make eye contact, do you? They just might know exactly how it feels to sit down with your uncle, who has two weeks to live, and help him write goodbye letters to all of his children and grandchildren. They might understand completely what it feels like to have your 23 year old daughter look you in the eye and tell you that you never knew her, the real her, and to know at that moment that you have lost something you will never get back. Maybe there are people out there, those hurting people that dare to look me in the eye, who do understand what it feels like to go to the funeral of your cousin’s child who overdosed on heroin the day she got out of jail, leaving two little children without a mother. Or how it feels to watch your nephew’s young body waste away as he battles leukemia and diabetes at the age of 29. And maybe, just maybe, they would understand that I’ve lost my Sparkle this year. And maybe that’s how they can look me in the eye.

 

For the past couple of decades, Tracie Adams has shared her love of literature and passion for writing through teaching middle and high school students, her own homeschooled children, and now her young grandchildren. In this last chapter of life, time has finally permitted the opportunity to share some of the many stories she has written over the years with the public. She is inspired to write about people and experiences which have deeply impacted her life and the lives of others, acknowledging the wounds we suffer, while focusing on the hope we all desperately need. Thank you for reading this very short non-fiction story about a very difficult year of my life.