The trauma I have with my father's death and all that surrounded it, still orbits in the present day. So I guess it's still active, it is still surrounding and a quite aggressively active and vigorous thing. Never actually still. Yet manageable though I suggest that term this is an unfit word. It's not unsurvivable, it doesn't leave me plastered to the bedroom floor, though it would be understandable if it did, because in many ways it absolutely should just cause its force and magnitude. Referring to as "it" is not solely adequate either but it will do. I have accepted many years ago that the trauma will always be this for me, for the rest of my time on the planet and while I wouldn't consider 'to be at peace' with this fact, I am as "ok" as I will most likely ever be. The trauma is quite surreal and almost a mythological thing, maybe even an entity. It's like this trauma has its own life with alternative lives, circling and hovering in and out. It's uniqueness, pain, confusion, and terror exists outside the everyday, concrete yet abstract, hard to digest and ugly, and it will always be until no recorded memory remains whether through human recollection or the written word. If some unfortunate galaxy is able to absorb human life and all its memories for some reason I hope finally it can recede and be released.

(Musings expanded originally from late night am phone note, May 4, 2022 and added to late am June 24, 2022)