Time slithers on like a poisonous snake. It creates new shapes, memories, and opportunities, but allows dust to settle over its path. Time is an entity we as humans cannot reverse nor fast forward – no matter how deep our vengeance. I choose to believe that our understanding of time is mostly veiled in the unknown – dimensions, lairs, and sheathes wrap around and layer him in clouded mystery. What makes up not even an inhale to time in turn has destroyed my best laid plans. What is a blip to him, is a life to me – a life lost.
It has been said that 'time heals all pain'. Maybe so. But what kind of time are we talking about? Decades? Centuries? Eons? Aren't we still experiencing the pain of the extinction of species? Aren't we still in a deep rut of hate that has been present for hundreds of years resulting from religious fear tactics, manifesting as tyranny and terrorism? Aren't we only beginning to understand the pain of the effect our ignorance and lack of care has had on the environment? I realize these grievous circumstances are immense chasms much bigger than my story – the death of one very important man – but to me, it's the biggest story. It's my life. My future. My broken heart. So time, you bastard, what are we talking about here? I don't feel like I'm healing. I feel bruised, raw, and like a scab that is ripped off repeatedly, leaving no time for recovery – only festering infection and eventual scarring.
Though, as if forced by the neck, I slither on with time. At some points I'm kicking and screaming along the way. At other times, my head is down and I walk aimlessly like a prisoner ankle-bound in shackles. Sometimes, I feel my feet beneath me again, my heart beating – reminding me of my own life – and my monkey-mind quivering in anticipation for something to create. Often, I do create – because it's my nature. Lately, I feel a need-for-speed. Struggling with my usual momentum, I'm wading in a puddle of mud. Searching for inspiration is a challenge when my feet are stuck in the quicksand of tarnished dreams. To be completely honest, I thought my next career move was to be a mother. Now, I'm still absentmindedly blinking at the abyss that sits where my swelling expectations had been comfortably nesting. I'm trying to carve out new beginnings and rousing continuations from tragically aborted dreams.
One unique way I've been dealing with my grief is to participate in life the way I imagine you would. I find myself hovering near the soundboard of a funk show, analyzing the layers of music, the production quality, and the passion of the musicians. I am in conversation with you the way we would be had we been there together, except now it's a silent one. I go to the shows that you would have wanted to be at – as if I'm somehow allowing you to live on through my experiences. I lock into my skis and take a run that I know you loved, daring myself to take on the mountain and the trees like you would. I try to tackle life with your gusto, especially when my own hope is waning. Also, I see your soul absorbed in the lives of those you loved. I remember you telling me about your best wishes for certain friends; and now as I see those desires materializing, through wary faith I allow myself to believe you're the gentle director of destiny.
I've developed a sort-of tunnel vision as I move through our house. Some days it's as though I'm sitting in a tear-stained tomb of shattered dreams. Other days, I am in a vault of treasured memories. I still feel trepidation about moving any of your belongings out of sight. It's still too soon. Too soon to box up what's left of you, label it 'the past', and put it in storage. Much too soon. I still find something every day that I know you were the last to touch. I still sip sparingly from a water bottle you filled up over five months ago, feeling comforted by knowing some of that liquid touched your mouth, your tongue, your teeth – physical parts of you I can no longer be touched by. We all move through the house in a bit of a haze. Beats has a new perch on the banister, near the front door. She stares out the window and often turns her head to me and meows quizzically. Although, she sleeps with me now. When I awake with mysterious scratches, she's made it very clear that I'm not her first choice. Kira sleeps sadly and at great length; she sighs mournfully and often. Kevin does the same thing.
One thing I've learned through this loss is that we never really 'have' anything. We often spend our lives acquiring. We gather and hoard as if we need to prove our status by the amount of stuff we have, the amount of friends we have, the amount of money we have, the amount of knowledge we have. We can lose everything so quickly – stuff, money, people, even our own will to survive. Who do we become we are stripped of what we thought we had? Perhaps true freedom is the understanding that we are able to let go of anything and keep going. With nothing but a heart that continues to beat in this vessel we have been offered, we can continue moving forward – with time in front of us, at our backs, and holding our hands through the march.
Showing posts with label broken. Show all posts
Showing posts with label broken. Show all posts
Anger
I was never angry at you a single time when you were alive. Our life together was fluid. It was calm like a still lake; the only turbulence was passion and adventure. When we disagreed, the ripples were small and resolved quickly through immediate discourse. It was as if a fish jumped out of the water and then without any memory, hook, line, or sinker, just disappeared back from where it came. Together, we were frictionless.
So, it feels wrong to be angry with you now. It's an unnatural emotion for me. One of those responses that stays way on the back burner. "USE ONLY IN CASE OF EMERGENCY." Well, this defines an emergency. So here comes anger. Shit, watch out.
You aren't here to defend yourself. You aren't here to react. You aren't here to tell me your side of the story. You aren't here to hug me and make it OK. But that's why I'm angry. You're not here. What the fuck, babe?
You promised me you would be here for me. When I left three yoga studios, a business I'd built from the ground, sold my house, and said goodbye to dozens of friends – it was because you promised me you'd be here for me. You would build a home with me. You would help me find a new career here. You would wake up next to me every day and kiss me good morning. You would be my one. You promised me this was it. I knew it. You knew it. So why did you break your promise? What did I do wrong? Why am I alone? Where did you go? Why won't you answer me? Why do I look around and see everyone else so happy – love, marriage, houses, families, success, security, smiles – and I'm alone and sad. You said you would be here for me. You never lied to me. But now you have.
When you were alive, you were so cautious not to hurt others. Even when they needed to be scolded, you were still tender. We trusted you to treat us kindly. We trusted you. I trusted you. We believed you would be here for us forever. We depended on you. I depended on you. When you were floating off to the light, did you know how much we needed you here? How much I needed you here? Maybe you were done with us, but we weren't done with you, Ted. I had so much more love to give you. We all did. Why did you rob us of that chance to love you more? Why did you rob me?
I came undone for you. Every wall I'd built up, every protective sheath, every guard, every story, every excuse – I let it all go when I fell in love with you. I softened like a ripe fruit. I let myself be vulnerable. And you held me gently. You held me as if I were an egg that could crack at anytime and you wouldn't dare let that happen. You teased me into full exposure. You were tender. You were loving. You cared for me with the nurturing of a mother. You showed me that there was none other than you. You were my match. You made me whole. Until you left. Death flirted with you, showed you her daunting beauty, and you chose her over me. You left me. You left all of us here who love you and need you. You broke the egg, smashed it into a thousand pieces and let the yolk spill out into the mud. You took that supple fruit and you gripped it so hard it bruised until it exploded, rotten pulp oozing into the hot sun and making your fingers sticky. You have broken me. I was whole and now I am broken. Shattered. Bruised. Tarnished. Damaged goods.
This anger scares me. I don't want to feel it and I don't want to fight with you. I am sorry for my anger. And I know you are sorry too. I know you are.
A couple days ago, right after my anger had really begun to appear, an old friend of yours sent me a message. She told me you had appeared to her in a dream. Initially, you were alive in the dream. You were a lifeguard at a pool. The two of you were chatting like old times. Then, the truth hit. You are dead. She said the dream became much more intense, more lucid. You changed forms from the lifeguard and began to disappear, as though you were being taken away. She said it was as though you didn't want to leave but couldn't control it. Watching you leave, she asked, "Is there anything you want me to tell anyone?" You remained quiet. "Is there anything you want me to tell Sami?" she asked. "Tell her 'I'm sorry'," you said. And then you were gone.
I hear you. I know you're sorry. But I just don't know if I'm ready to accept it quite yet. I will, my love. I will. But it's not easy.
And so goes life. One day I feel darkness, the next I feel lightness. One day I feel loneliness, the next I feel connected. One day I feel love, the next I feel anger. It is confusing. It feels bottomless. Someone will say to me, "You're pulling through! This is a turning point for you." Yes. A turning point that will turn right back around and go back in the opposite direction. Just give it a few days, a few hours, a few minutes. Grief is like a pendulum that swings back and forth. When it starts to slow down, something or nothing comes in and wacks it again – catapulting it into high gear all over again.
I have heard that anger is a step of the grief process. Honestly, I thought I would leapfrog it. 'I am bigger than anger,' I told myself. I thought, 'I've never been angry at him before, so why would I be now?' Well, once again, grief has humbled me; I am not bigger than anger. It has slapped me in the face and it stings. It's not a natural place for me to be. It feels as though I'm ice skating with socks on; it's slippery. But, I recognize that I can't control my emotions. This is how I feel now, but it can change in an instant. Today, anger has gripped me with it's ugly, sticky hands. It's taking me for a ride that makes me motion sick. And though this ride makes me ill, I will hold on to my truth and eventually I'll make it through, truth intact. Anger will retract his fierce claws.
So, it feels wrong to be angry with you now. It's an unnatural emotion for me. One of those responses that stays way on the back burner. "USE ONLY IN CASE OF EMERGENCY." Well, this defines an emergency. So here comes anger. Shit, watch out.
You aren't here to defend yourself. You aren't here to react. You aren't here to tell me your side of the story. You aren't here to hug me and make it OK. But that's why I'm angry. You're not here. What the fuck, babe?
You promised me you would be here for me. When I left three yoga studios, a business I'd built from the ground, sold my house, and said goodbye to dozens of friends – it was because you promised me you'd be here for me. You would build a home with me. You would help me find a new career here. You would wake up next to me every day and kiss me good morning. You would be my one. You promised me this was it. I knew it. You knew it. So why did you break your promise? What did I do wrong? Why am I alone? Where did you go? Why won't you answer me? Why do I look around and see everyone else so happy – love, marriage, houses, families, success, security, smiles – and I'm alone and sad. You said you would be here for me. You never lied to me. But now you have.
When you were alive, you were so cautious not to hurt others. Even when they needed to be scolded, you were still tender. We trusted you to treat us kindly. We trusted you. I trusted you. We believed you would be here for us forever. We depended on you. I depended on you. When you were floating off to the light, did you know how much we needed you here? How much I needed you here? Maybe you were done with us, but we weren't done with you, Ted. I had so much more love to give you. We all did. Why did you rob us of that chance to love you more? Why did you rob me?
I came undone for you. Every wall I'd built up, every protective sheath, every guard, every story, every excuse – I let it all go when I fell in love with you. I softened like a ripe fruit. I let myself be vulnerable. And you held me gently. You held me as if I were an egg that could crack at anytime and you wouldn't dare let that happen. You teased me into full exposure. You were tender. You were loving. You cared for me with the nurturing of a mother. You showed me that there was none other than you. You were my match. You made me whole. Until you left. Death flirted with you, showed you her daunting beauty, and you chose her over me. You left me. You left all of us here who love you and need you. You broke the egg, smashed it into a thousand pieces and let the yolk spill out into the mud. You took that supple fruit and you gripped it so hard it bruised until it exploded, rotten pulp oozing into the hot sun and making your fingers sticky. You have broken me. I was whole and now I am broken. Shattered. Bruised. Tarnished. Damaged goods.
This anger scares me. I don't want to feel it and I don't want to fight with you. I am sorry for my anger. And I know you are sorry too. I know you are.
A couple days ago, right after my anger had really begun to appear, an old friend of yours sent me a message. She told me you had appeared to her in a dream. Initially, you were alive in the dream. You were a lifeguard at a pool. The two of you were chatting like old times. Then, the truth hit. You are dead. She said the dream became much more intense, more lucid. You changed forms from the lifeguard and began to disappear, as though you were being taken away. She said it was as though you didn't want to leave but couldn't control it. Watching you leave, she asked, "Is there anything you want me to tell anyone?" You remained quiet. "Is there anything you want me to tell Sami?" she asked. "Tell her 'I'm sorry'," you said. And then you were gone.
I hear you. I know you're sorry. But I just don't know if I'm ready to accept it quite yet. I will, my love. I will. But it's not easy.
And so goes life. One day I feel darkness, the next I feel lightness. One day I feel loneliness, the next I feel connected. One day I feel love, the next I feel anger. It is confusing. It feels bottomless. Someone will say to me, "You're pulling through! This is a turning point for you." Yes. A turning point that will turn right back around and go back in the opposite direction. Just give it a few days, a few hours, a few minutes. Grief is like a pendulum that swings back and forth. When it starts to slow down, something or nothing comes in and wacks it again – catapulting it into high gear all over again.
I have heard that anger is a step of the grief process. Honestly, I thought I would leapfrog it. 'I am bigger than anger,' I told myself. I thought, 'I've never been angry at him before, so why would I be now?' Well, once again, grief has humbled me; I am not bigger than anger. It has slapped me in the face and it stings. It's not a natural place for me to be. It feels as though I'm ice skating with socks on; it's slippery. But, I recognize that I can't control my emotions. This is how I feel now, but it can change in an instant. Today, anger has gripped me with it's ugly, sticky hands. It's taking me for a ride that makes me motion sick. And though this ride makes me ill, I will hold on to my truth and eventually I'll make it through, truth intact. Anger will retract his fierce claws.
What I know and what I don't know.
I can officially, without a drop of doubt in my mind, now say that the worst month of my life is behind me. You have been gone a month. It's been a month since we talked. It's been a month since we looked into each others eyes. It's been a month since we said "I love you". It's been a month since we kissed. And like all measures of time, it's one I can't take back.
Time is an interesting concept. One that I don't really even understand anymore, to be honest. I used to think we 'had time on our side'. That was not the case. Time robbed us. Or maybe something else robbed time. An hour seems long when you want it to be short. When you want an hour to last forever, it rushes by. Certain years of my life seem to have lasted ages, when others I had hardly remember because they whisked by. It seems like forever since I last saw you. But then it also seems like just a moment ago. I don't know what time is. I know you didn't either. We used to talk about quantum physics and agree, there was a lot more to space and time than humanity could calculate.
I remember our last kiss. It was at 8:20 pm on Friday, October 24th (2014). It was gentle and loving. We looked into each others eyes. It wasn't rushed. There is no way we could have ever known that was to be our last kiss, that you would take your last breath just five hours later. But considering it was, I have no regrets about that kiss. It was perfect.
I also remember our first kiss. It was on Sunday, January 27th 2013 at about 2 am. You said, "Can I kiss you now!?" It was as if you'd been waiting forever to do so. Maybe you had. Maybe you'd been waiting since our last lifetime together was cut short. No one knows when their first kiss will happen either. One may hope – or maybe it comes out of the blue. Eagerness and lust filling you up. Excitement standing in line with breath mints, chapstick, and impatience. Our first kiss was perfect.
I imagined our kiss on the altar thousands of times. The one that would happen after we got to say "I do". I imagined it as a collage of all the best romance movie kisses – expect better. It would be fueled with true love, excitement, passion, hope, destiny, and faith. It was going to be perfect. It still will be, someday, whatever that means.
What I never once imagined was that it wouldn't happen. I was so sure... wasn't I? Why hadn't I ever considered things could have taken a dark turn, as they did? Had I stuffed premonitions and ominous occurrences aside, and just assumed, with false hope, that we would get what we so thought we deserved – real happiness? Isn't that what the point of life is? Love? Did life deliver us what we deserved? Was our twenty months of true connection and love what life had in store for us? Did we get to squeeze as much love as most beings have in seventy years into that short time? I will never know.
There's not a lot of things I know right now. I am confused about this thing we call time. I am up in the air about the specifics of afterlife. I'm trying to decide if there's a difference between fate, destiny, and happenstance. I am hopeful, but not one-hundred-percent sure that you are watching over me. I'm not sure what to gather from the visions, the mediums, and the signs that have been appearing everywhere. I don't know where you are, I hope it's not just in dust and ashes inside of a cold urn. I don't know why you died. I don't know if there is anything I could have done. I don't know if this is a part of a master plan. I don't know what our children would have looked like, if they would have been blonde or brunette, like we often thought about. I don't know if I will ever be a mother. I don't know if we only have one soul mate. I don't know if I will ever love again. I don't know if you will come back as my child, like you told me you would. I don't know how I'm still standing. I don't know how the hair is still growing on my legs and how my cycle continues to flow, when my heart feels like it has stopped, though I can hear it beat.... beat... beat. I don't know what's next.
But, there's a few things I do know.
"I know that I am glad we had this time together. I am glad we shared our love, even though time cut it short. I also know that I still have all the love. It didn't go anywhere. In fact, it still grows. As the grief grows, the love grows. I have all this love, you gave it to me, and that is your gift to me. That is the biggest gift anyone could receive. Because now I know love, I own love, and I have your love inside of me. And I can share it, like you did. I know that my life will never be the same. I will be a new kind of woman. I will be a new kind of teacher. I will be a new kind of lover. I will be you, in some ways. I KNOW that you are inside of me – not in all the ways I want (giggity) – but you are here. I know that I would not be able to wake up, get out of bed, carry on a conversation, take care of myself, eat, even laugh, for god's sake, without you being in me. I know you are carrying me. In what way that is, I do not know at all, and I never will – but I know you are and that you always will be."
I love you.
Time is an interesting concept. One that I don't really even understand anymore, to be honest. I used to think we 'had time on our side'. That was not the case. Time robbed us. Or maybe something else robbed time. An hour seems long when you want it to be short. When you want an hour to last forever, it rushes by. Certain years of my life seem to have lasted ages, when others I had hardly remember because they whisked by. It seems like forever since I last saw you. But then it also seems like just a moment ago. I don't know what time is. I know you didn't either. We used to talk about quantum physics and agree, there was a lot more to space and time than humanity could calculate.
I remember our last kiss. It was at 8:20 pm on Friday, October 24th (2014). It was gentle and loving. We looked into each others eyes. It wasn't rushed. There is no way we could have ever known that was to be our last kiss, that you would take your last breath just five hours later. But considering it was, I have no regrets about that kiss. It was perfect.
I also remember our first kiss. It was on Sunday, January 27th 2013 at about 2 am. You said, "Can I kiss you now!?" It was as if you'd been waiting forever to do so. Maybe you had. Maybe you'd been waiting since our last lifetime together was cut short. No one knows when their first kiss will happen either. One may hope – or maybe it comes out of the blue. Eagerness and lust filling you up. Excitement standing in line with breath mints, chapstick, and impatience. Our first kiss was perfect.
I imagined our kiss on the altar thousands of times. The one that would happen after we got to say "I do". I imagined it as a collage of all the best romance movie kisses – expect better. It would be fueled with true love, excitement, passion, hope, destiny, and faith. It was going to be perfect. It still will be, someday, whatever that means.
What I never once imagined was that it wouldn't happen. I was so sure... wasn't I? Why hadn't I ever considered things could have taken a dark turn, as they did? Had I stuffed premonitions and ominous occurrences aside, and just assumed, with false hope, that we would get what we so thought we deserved – real happiness? Isn't that what the point of life is? Love? Did life deliver us what we deserved? Was our twenty months of true connection and love what life had in store for us? Did we get to squeeze as much love as most beings have in seventy years into that short time? I will never know.
There's not a lot of things I know right now. I am confused about this thing we call time. I am up in the air about the specifics of afterlife. I'm trying to decide if there's a difference between fate, destiny, and happenstance. I am hopeful, but not one-hundred-percent sure that you are watching over me. I'm not sure what to gather from the visions, the mediums, and the signs that have been appearing everywhere. I don't know where you are, I hope it's not just in dust and ashes inside of a cold urn. I don't know why you died. I don't know if there is anything I could have done. I don't know if this is a part of a master plan. I don't know what our children would have looked like, if they would have been blonde or brunette, like we often thought about. I don't know if I will ever be a mother. I don't know if we only have one soul mate. I don't know if I will ever love again. I don't know if you will come back as my child, like you told me you would. I don't know how I'm still standing. I don't know how the hair is still growing on my legs and how my cycle continues to flow, when my heart feels like it has stopped, though I can hear it beat.... beat... beat. I don't know what's next.
But, there's a few things I do know.
"I know that I am glad we had this time together. I am glad we shared our love, even though time cut it short. I also know that I still have all the love. It didn't go anywhere. In fact, it still grows. As the grief grows, the love grows. I have all this love, you gave it to me, and that is your gift to me. That is the biggest gift anyone could receive. Because now I know love, I own love, and I have your love inside of me. And I can share it, like you did. I know that my life will never be the same. I will be a new kind of woman. I will be a new kind of teacher. I will be a new kind of lover. I will be you, in some ways. I KNOW that you are inside of me – not in all the ways I want (giggity) – but you are here. I know that I would not be able to wake up, get out of bed, carry on a conversation, take care of myself, eat, even laugh, for god's sake, without you being in me. I know you are carrying me. In what way that is, I do not know at all, and I never will – but I know you are and that you always will be."
I love you.
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