Heavenly Covens

How does one feel in the world when the nucleus is gone? Or in my case the multiple, being nuclei? Where are they, my beloveds? Are they together? If not, do they convene when visiting or thinking of me? I like to think of it like a circle, a heavenly coven almost, or not quite, I am not really sure exactly. But doesn't that sound nice? My sister, the one who knew the real me fixing herself a nice cup of tea, just a tad sweet but strong nodes of chai or camomile. Once to the perfect temperature (is there temperature there or is it always a perfect 78 degrees outside) heads out of her floating cabin, hovers ever so gently over to Dad's hut as to not disrupt or spill or tea. Dad's place is much more masculine but equally as beautiful as sisters with strange and colorful artwork that inspires him because he couldn't see all color here on earth. They lock hands, sisters other still grasping the mug as they float over to Moms place. She's new in town and still getting her place just right, yet she insists on hosting for the coven visits to me. "I brought him into this world" she says and Dad and sister giggle at her to remind her there is no more THIS WORLD. I picture her place almost like a birds nest, but instead of chirping its Motown hits (only the REALLY good ones) playing ever so gently in the background. She can't decide on decor, sometimes when she starts to think about it she remembers that I am still here and instead of going to heaven's version of West Elm or Restoration Hardware, she instead does what all moms do and checks in to make sure I am OK instead. The decor can wait when baby bird is still so completely broken. Cross legged on the floor and hands clasped they tune into me. My three. In so many ways I want to be there with them. It's so completely messed up that I don't get to participate. I'm not saying I want to die, but I have always had FOMO, and a heavenly yoga-esque circle meetings with my favorites makes me yearn to hear the laughter, pay attention to the soft sips of tea, catch those only-with-these-people side glances and ways that we could make fun of one another, but strike and kill anyone else who even said boo about one of us individually. I am not yet forty and my three are gone. For now. Is it strange that I always do this math? If I live til ninety, I would've only had Dad for 15% of my life, sister for 33%, and mother for 40% of my earthly time. Total bummer. Totally and completely unfair. Grief is such a strange and intense ride. And I've never been a real thrill seeker to be honest. Where else other than on a risky endeavor (think Ninja ride at Six Flags or something similar) do you cry, laugh, scream, fly, fall, shake, be still and slow your breathing, feel your breathing rise and fall in miliseconds, and end with wiping tears away while yelling to the attendant, "again, again?" To me, that's how I feel most days and times. When people lovingly check in with me to see how I am doing (which I am so grateful for) I sometimes just shrug my shoulders because explaining THAT feeling to them as it swirls inside of me is almost impossible. You can't really put words into it while you're on the ride, and some parts of you feel like your insides will literally fall out if you open your mouth or try to speak. Look, I know loss. Very well. It's excruciating and there is absolutely zero way around that. As much as I want someone to take it away, make is subside (even if just for a day or two), when it came down to it, I wouldn't let them. What these three have given and taken from me is only for me and I hold it so tightly that I'd claw and fight anyone who ever attempted to remove or release any of it. It's mine. They were mine.