Lindsey has been sending me poetry. I sincerely enjoy it. I don't really know how to express how much I enjoy it to her. Receiving poetry, from anyone, or receiving songs, or receiving book suggestions, or receiving fun facts, or receiving new words, all of those things are like receiving the most beautiful, invaluable gifts that can ever be given. Better than birthdays or Christmas morning. Because there's something a little deeper about wanting to share intangible things you love with someone than there is about wanting to buy them gifts. (Not that I don't like gifts too!)
Anyhow, I wanted to repost some of them that I truly reacted to. Whether the reactions were sadness, quiet laughter, smiling, doesn't matter, they elicited reactions. The following poems evoked in me some empathy in one way or another. And maybe they say for me things I'm not good at putting into words as well.
"Barfly" by Charles Bukowski
Jane, who has been dead for 31 years,
never could have
imagined that I would write a screenplay of our drinking
days together
and
that it would be made into a movie
and
that a beautiful movie star would play her
part.
I can hear Jane now: “A beautiful movie star? oh,
for Christ’s sake!”
Jane, that’s show biz, so go back to sleep, dear, because
no matter how hard they tried they
just couldn’t find anybody exactly like
you.
and neither can
I.
"Damages" by Ruby Rahman
There are some sorrows, some damages, for which
there is no compensation;
you are that irreparable loss of mine.
Where you cast your glance
light of the conjoining stars dances
along the great longitude;
the courage to dream blooms in the blood
and the difficult habit of staying alive,
nurtured from the moment of birth,
crumbles like a conch-shell dust.
You are that inconsolable sorrow of mine
that tears apart this neat and tidy day-to-day existence.
Someday this present time
will slip out of my grasp
like a fisherman missing on the high seas.
The still lighthouse's flickering beam of light
will tremble only on the vast deep,
dark waters of the sea-- a wounded wind;
and there will go on lying my boundless time--
my destiny!
There are some sorrows, some calamities--
that can never, from any quarter, be compensated for.
"Dust" by Dorianne Laux
Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks.
Now, I remember only the flavor--
not like food, sweet or sharp.
More like a fine powder, like dust.
And I wasn't elated or frightened,
but simply rapt, aware.
That's how it is sometimes--
God comes to your window,
all bright light and black wings,
and you're just too tired to open it.
"The Miracle is the Shortest Time" by Charles Bukowski
you know
it was very good
it was
better than
anything
it was like
something
we could
pick up
hold
look at
and then laugh
about.
we were on the
moon
we were in the
god damned moon,
we had it
we were in the garden
we were in the
endless pit
never such a place
as that
it was deep
and
it was light
and
it was high
it got so near
to insanity
we laughed so
hard
your laughter
and
mine
I remember when
your eyes
said love
loudly
now
as these walls
so quietly
shift
"The Embrace" By Mark Doty
You weren't well or really ill yet either;
just a little tired, your handsomeness
tinged by grief or anticipation, which brought
to your face a thoughtful, deepening grace.
I didn't for a moment doubt you were dead.
I knew that to be true still, even in the dream.
You'd been out-- at work maybe? --
having a good day, almost energetic.
We seemed to be moving from some old house
where we'd lived, boxes everywhere, things
in disarray: that was the story of my dream,
but even asleep I was shocked out of the narrative
by your face, the physical fact of your face:
inches from mine, smooth-shaven, loving, alert.
Why so difficult, remembering the actual look
of you? Without a photograph, without strain?
So when I saw your unguarded, reliable face,
your unmistakable gaze opening all the warmth
and clarity of you-- warm brown tea-- we held
each other for the time the dream allowed.
Bless you. You came back, so I could see you
once more, plainly, so I could rest against you
without thinking this happiness lessened anything,
without thinking you were alive again.
And to head off this poetry, may I introduce WhiteSnake. I never believed I could relate to a man who calls himself "WhiteSnake" but here I am, totally manifesting this song.
Here I Go Again - WhiteSnake
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Post Thirty: Doldrums Denizen
I'm not sure what I want to say, but I know I want to write. I sat down last night and wrote a draft that I never posted. And I never will. Within one night, it has become outdated.
And so we begin post thirty.
I finished two books today, Dideon's Magical Thinking and the short novels book. Finishing books is always somewhat heart-wrenching. It's like saying goodbye to an old friend. Like watching the final episode of a favorite TV show. It leaves one feeling forlorn and lost.
And given that I am already these things, finishing these books weren't as emotional as usual. Though I did cry after finishing Dideon's book. It's been such a crutch, such a relative account to my life. It's helped explain to me things I am continually experiencing but couldn't figure out without explanation. Even before I finished the book, maybe within the last three chapters, I thought to myself that I would re-read it. So with the end of Dideon's story, I feel a little less guided in my grief and mourning.
But also, once I finished it, I laid down to take a nap and instead imagined every part of Zach. His legs. His shoulders. The curve of his back when he was lying down on his stomach. The hair on the back of his palm. I used to call them werewolf hands. All of those intimate details I was intimate with. I was surprised at how precisely I could imagine them, because I've had such a hard time remembering him in general. And unexpectedly, at first, I didn't cry. Instead, I was comforted. I felt like I was home. But when I began to imagine his face and neck, I lost my composure. I find it's much more difficult to imagine his face, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips, his smile.
I honestly am so indescribably sad. Simply sad. I often find moments, more often than not, that bring me happiness throughout each day I encounter, but the truth is, under all of those moments of happiness I am concealing an incredible sadness. How has this happened? "This" being my life as I know it. I haven't given myself much time to ponder that, because thinking about it changes nothing.
And I think I want to talk about this sadness and all the things associated with Zach's fall, all the feelings, all the debilitating thoughts, all the confusion, all the impatience, all the simple tasks that have become so difficult, all the desperate feelings I have that require I be in the presence of someone, anyone at all times. I want to talk about them with so many people. But I feel that I no longer have the right. Here's something from Dideon that says exactly that:
"People in grief think a great deal about self-pity. We worry it, dread it, scourge our thinking for signs of it. We fear that our actions will reveal the condition tellingly described as 'dwelling on it.' We understand the aversion most of us have to 'dwelling on it.' Visible mourning reminds us of death, which is construed as unnatural, a failure to manage the situation. 'A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty,' Philippe Aries wrote to the point of this aversion in Western Attitudes toward Death. 'But one no longer has the right to say so aloud.'"
And that's exactly how I feel. I have lost a single person and the whole world feels empty.
The other night was one of my closest friend's birthday. On this specific night, I imbued more than my fair share of drinks and in doing so, found myself later in the evening utterly indulging in my grief. Self-pity cannot be concealed all the time, I suppose. But even thinking about that night, the way I remember it, dark, silky water beneath me, dark, open sky above, dark, enormous feelings inside, I can't help but start to cry again. So much darkness happened in those moments alone, and yet, I felt so so so one with myself. I was letting myself be myself. And myself is, in the daylight, trying so hard to be happy, but at night, with the accompaniment of intoxication & sometimes without, I am the epitome of my misery.
I often used to say, or at least believe, that intoxicated words were sober thoughts. This is true, partly, I'm sure, because we cease to limit ourselves in a way we would normally. Remembering myself that night and relating to her so heavily while NOT being intoxicated leads me to believe that that is how I am at the simplest, most honest level.
But during the day, in the company of others, I am afraid...or unwilling to admit it to myself. Let's settle and say that I'm both afraid and unwilling. So many people reported to me that I was "strong" the weeks after his fall. And I can even be quoted agreeing with them, but my "strength" they saw and commented on was really passive living. Floating through because what else is there? Wailing will change nothing. Anger will change nothing. Longing, wishing, thinking, hoping, will change nothing. There is no price that can be paid that will bring back my previous life. None.
Self-pity. The question of self-pity. I don't even understand that sentence, but Dideon repeated it throughout her book. What is the question of self-pity?
"We remind ourselves repeatedly that our own loss is nothing compared to the loss experienced (or, the even worse thought, not experienced) by he or she who died; this attempt at corrective thinking serves only to plunge us deeper into the self-regarding deep. (Why didn't I see that, why am I so selfish.) The very language we use when we think about self-pity betrays the deep abhorrence in which we hold it: self-pity is feeling sorry for yourself, self-pity is thumb-sucking, self-pity is boo hoo poor me, self-pity is the condition in which those feeling sorry for themselves indulge, or even wallow. Self-pity remains both the most common and the most universally reviled of our character defects, its pestilential destructiveness accepted as given. 'Our worst enemy,' Helen Keller called it."
Is that Dideon's answer to that question?
Either way, it's this very way of thinking about self-pity that almost forces us to be "strong" in the face of death. Forces us to handle ourselves, uphold our honor, in a time when we should be allowed to explore every feeling we're faced with. Isn't that a part of healing? Paying attention to our mourning? Working our way through it? Facing it?
It's this very same thinking that makes me withdraw from others. Self-pity is shameful. Suddenly, I have gone from living a life without shame, to feeling ashamed almost all the time. Ashamed to answer questions like, "So, what are you doing now?" or "How do you know each other?". Ashamed to admit the truth about myself to others. I am, currently, bereaved. I am currently working through the death of my ..what? What word can possibly describe fully, honestly, what Zachary was to me and me to him? I used to and still do struggle with the word "boyfriend." It's so trivial. It does not touch on our relationship in the slightest except to label us as having been in a relationship. When we first began dating, Zach was asking me "Juliana, what are we?" The beginning of our relationship was really ambiguous because I was trying to figure out if I really even wanted to be in one. (In fact, almost a year later, when we had to determine a date for our anniversary, we just guessed the 14th of January. We weren't sure it was right, but it was as right as we needed it to be.) And to Zach's question I said, "We are lovers." He laughed at me. Lovers seems.. outdated, I suppose. And maybe fickle. ("Fickle" was a word Zach loved to use.) But we were lovers and we remained so.
To continue on the thought of feeling ashamed, I feel ashamed in the most normal situations. In communicating with people sociably I fail. This is shameful. In expressing myself honestly, I fail. This too, brings me shame, because I feel I'm often misunderstood.
I'm curious about the way the world sees me now and how it compares to the way I view myself. I often wonder if Zach, if he can be, is proud of me. Or if he's wondering, if he can, "WTF, Juliana. Where are your tears? Did you even love me at all?" I faced a lot of those thoughts early on in this process, because I was for the most part unfeeling.
I can't tell, but I THINK (I've been saying that so much lately, "I think," not "I know," even when I DO know I still choose to say that I only think), maybe, my unfeeling is being undone.
How scattered is this post? I often reread what I've written and realize I left out so many important things because I just write without any structure.
To me, being able to feel what's happening emotionally means that my outward appearance to others will change quite soon. Soon they will notice my languishing vitality. My quiet, wide-eyed hours. A lack of smiling at the appropriate moment. Silence following jokes. I wonder if it's been noticed by others already? Because I've noticed it.
I'm seemingly less hospitable. I'm seemingly less friendly. I'm more aloof. More off putting. More inclined to do my own thing in the midst of others because it's what keeps me from having emotional outbursts all over them. I have a penchant for fleeing a group of joviality so that I can take refuge in isolation. That seems undesirable.
I do not want isolation. I just do not want to face judgement in addition to grief. Is that an unwarranted fear? I don't know, because I haven't tried being sad once in the presence of company. Except for my mom, but she HAS to accept me (right, mama?). Even when others put their sadness on me, cry in my presence, I cannot bring myself to do the same. I fight with all my heart the impending tears. Even when I'm told plainly, without room for misinterpretation, that I may feel free to express my thoughts and feelings to a particular person (whomsoever has told me to feel free), I keep all words tightly stowed away. Why can I not admit it? Why can I not speak freely? Why do I feel so mortified at the thought of being honest in person?
Oh dear. What now?
A list of pacifiers: Stones. NPR. The dock. Company. Trees. Stars. The Moon. Bike riding with a purpose. Climbing. Exploring. Writing. Reading, anything. Learning words. Cloud bursting. Sunshine. Bare feet and wet grass. Water, both potable & picturesque.
End Scene.
And so we begin post thirty.
I finished two books today, Dideon's Magical Thinking and the short novels book. Finishing books is always somewhat heart-wrenching. It's like saying goodbye to an old friend. Like watching the final episode of a favorite TV show. It leaves one feeling forlorn and lost.
And given that I am already these things, finishing these books weren't as emotional as usual. Though I did cry after finishing Dideon's book. It's been such a crutch, such a relative account to my life. It's helped explain to me things I am continually experiencing but couldn't figure out without explanation. Even before I finished the book, maybe within the last three chapters, I thought to myself that I would re-read it. So with the end of Dideon's story, I feel a little less guided in my grief and mourning.
But also, once I finished it, I laid down to take a nap and instead imagined every part of Zach. His legs. His shoulders. The curve of his back when he was lying down on his stomach. The hair on the back of his palm. I used to call them werewolf hands. All of those intimate details I was intimate with. I was surprised at how precisely I could imagine them, because I've had such a hard time remembering him in general. And unexpectedly, at first, I didn't cry. Instead, I was comforted. I felt like I was home. But when I began to imagine his face and neck, I lost my composure. I find it's much more difficult to imagine his face, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips, his smile.
I honestly am so indescribably sad. Simply sad. I often find moments, more often than not, that bring me happiness throughout each day I encounter, but the truth is, under all of those moments of happiness I am concealing an incredible sadness. How has this happened? "This" being my life as I know it. I haven't given myself much time to ponder that, because thinking about it changes nothing.
And I think I want to talk about this sadness and all the things associated with Zach's fall, all the feelings, all the debilitating thoughts, all the confusion, all the impatience, all the simple tasks that have become so difficult, all the desperate feelings I have that require I be in the presence of someone, anyone at all times. I want to talk about them with so many people. But I feel that I no longer have the right. Here's something from Dideon that says exactly that:
"People in grief think a great deal about self-pity. We worry it, dread it, scourge our thinking for signs of it. We fear that our actions will reveal the condition tellingly described as 'dwelling on it.' We understand the aversion most of us have to 'dwelling on it.' Visible mourning reminds us of death, which is construed as unnatural, a failure to manage the situation. 'A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty,' Philippe Aries wrote to the point of this aversion in Western Attitudes toward Death. 'But one no longer has the right to say so aloud.'"
And that's exactly how I feel. I have lost a single person and the whole world feels empty.
The other night was one of my closest friend's birthday. On this specific night, I imbued more than my fair share of drinks and in doing so, found myself later in the evening utterly indulging in my grief. Self-pity cannot be concealed all the time, I suppose. But even thinking about that night, the way I remember it, dark, silky water beneath me, dark, open sky above, dark, enormous feelings inside, I can't help but start to cry again. So much darkness happened in those moments alone, and yet, I felt so so so one with myself. I was letting myself be myself. And myself is, in the daylight, trying so hard to be happy, but at night, with the accompaniment of intoxication & sometimes without, I am the epitome of my misery.
I often used to say, or at least believe, that intoxicated words were sober thoughts. This is true, partly, I'm sure, because we cease to limit ourselves in a way we would normally. Remembering myself that night and relating to her so heavily while NOT being intoxicated leads me to believe that that is how I am at the simplest, most honest level.
But during the day, in the company of others, I am afraid...or unwilling to admit it to myself. Let's settle and say that I'm both afraid and unwilling. So many people reported to me that I was "strong" the weeks after his fall. And I can even be quoted agreeing with them, but my "strength" they saw and commented on was really passive living. Floating through because what else is there? Wailing will change nothing. Anger will change nothing. Longing, wishing, thinking, hoping, will change nothing. There is no price that can be paid that will bring back my previous life. None.
Self-pity. The question of self-pity. I don't even understand that sentence, but Dideon repeated it throughout her book. What is the question of self-pity?
"We remind ourselves repeatedly that our own loss is nothing compared to the loss experienced (or, the even worse thought, not experienced) by he or she who died; this attempt at corrective thinking serves only to plunge us deeper into the self-regarding deep. (Why didn't I see that, why am I so selfish.) The very language we use when we think about self-pity betrays the deep abhorrence in which we hold it: self-pity is feeling sorry for yourself, self-pity is thumb-sucking, self-pity is boo hoo poor me, self-pity is the condition in which those feeling sorry for themselves indulge, or even wallow. Self-pity remains both the most common and the most universally reviled of our character defects, its pestilential destructiveness accepted as given. 'Our worst enemy,' Helen Keller called it."
Is that Dideon's answer to that question?
Either way, it's this very way of thinking about self-pity that almost forces us to be "strong" in the face of death. Forces us to handle ourselves, uphold our honor, in a time when we should be allowed to explore every feeling we're faced with. Isn't that a part of healing? Paying attention to our mourning? Working our way through it? Facing it?
It's this very same thinking that makes me withdraw from others. Self-pity is shameful. Suddenly, I have gone from living a life without shame, to feeling ashamed almost all the time. Ashamed to answer questions like, "So, what are you doing now?" or "How do you know each other?". Ashamed to admit the truth about myself to others. I am, currently, bereaved. I am currently working through the death of my ..what? What word can possibly describe fully, honestly, what Zachary was to me and me to him? I used to and still do struggle with the word "boyfriend." It's so trivial. It does not touch on our relationship in the slightest except to label us as having been in a relationship. When we first began dating, Zach was asking me "Juliana, what are we?" The beginning of our relationship was really ambiguous because I was trying to figure out if I really even wanted to be in one. (In fact, almost a year later, when we had to determine a date for our anniversary, we just guessed the 14th of January. We weren't sure it was right, but it was as right as we needed it to be.) And to Zach's question I said, "We are lovers." He laughed at me. Lovers seems.. outdated, I suppose. And maybe fickle. ("Fickle" was a word Zach loved to use.) But we were lovers and we remained so.
To continue on the thought of feeling ashamed, I feel ashamed in the most normal situations. In communicating with people sociably I fail. This is shameful. In expressing myself honestly, I fail. This too, brings me shame, because I feel I'm often misunderstood.
I'm curious about the way the world sees me now and how it compares to the way I view myself. I often wonder if Zach, if he can be, is proud of me. Or if he's wondering, if he can, "WTF, Juliana. Where are your tears? Did you even love me at all?" I faced a lot of those thoughts early on in this process, because I was for the most part unfeeling.
I can't tell, but I THINK (I've been saying that so much lately, "I think," not "I know," even when I DO know I still choose to say that I only think), maybe, my unfeeling is being undone.
How scattered is this post? I often reread what I've written and realize I left out so many important things because I just write without any structure.
To me, being able to feel what's happening emotionally means that my outward appearance to others will change quite soon. Soon they will notice my languishing vitality. My quiet, wide-eyed hours. A lack of smiling at the appropriate moment. Silence following jokes. I wonder if it's been noticed by others already? Because I've noticed it.
I'm seemingly less hospitable. I'm seemingly less friendly. I'm more aloof. More off putting. More inclined to do my own thing in the midst of others because it's what keeps me from having emotional outbursts all over them. I have a penchant for fleeing a group of joviality so that I can take refuge in isolation. That seems undesirable.
I do not want isolation. I just do not want to face judgement in addition to grief. Is that an unwarranted fear? I don't know, because I haven't tried being sad once in the presence of company. Except for my mom, but she HAS to accept me (right, mama?). Even when others put their sadness on me, cry in my presence, I cannot bring myself to do the same. I fight with all my heart the impending tears. Even when I'm told plainly, without room for misinterpretation, that I may feel free to express my thoughts and feelings to a particular person (whomsoever has told me to feel free), I keep all words tightly stowed away. Why can I not admit it? Why can I not speak freely? Why do I feel so mortified at the thought of being honest in person?
Oh dear. What now?
A list of pacifiers: Stones. NPR. The dock. Company. Trees. Stars. The Moon. Bike riding with a purpose. Climbing. Exploring. Writing. Reading, anything. Learning words. Cloud bursting. Sunshine. Bare feet and wet grass. Water, both potable & picturesque.
End Scene.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Post Twenty-Nine: Kudu
I've found a refuge away from "inside" and away from the rain. I discovered it yesterday, thanks to Milena. It's a place I've always known about and a place that I've made several tentative plans to go to, but a place I hadn't actually been to yet. It is Kudu, a coffee house. I went there yesterday to sit with Milena while she did homework so I could read. I read "The Flower of Spain," the first short novel of that one book I got (it was published in the 1920s and smells SO old. The scent is constantly wafting up my nose when I'm reading that book.) that contains four out of fifty of the greatest short novels of all time.
Anyways, while there, Milena called my attention to this journal Kudu keeps for their customers to write in. It's a journal of thoughts and anyone can write anything they'd like in it. She called my attention to this journal for one particular entry. It was the first entry, I believe. Anyways, I wrote it down really quickly on a notepad file in my computer and posted it later that day as my status on Facebook, but I want to record it here also, just for good measure. (it'll also be added to my feel good notebook. It's the notebook i record in all lovely things said to or shared with me that just make me feel better.) Here you are:
Additionally, before I sign off, I want to say this. Zach will never be replaced in my life. Sure, I expect to find someone I can love again, but they will not replace Zach. Zach will be on my mind until the day I die. I know that I will live my life having "What If" thoughts that will never go away, no matter how wonderful my life might end up being. Please don't confuse my musings about the future as impatience to replace Zach. It simply cannot be done. He was, as I've said before, unlike anyone I've ever known and I don't expect to know another like him. He was, also, while he was here, my future. My life. My what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted more than anything you can imagine to have his children. To be his wife. To share my first home with him. To share everyday I had left with him. I often wished on shooting stars, on eyelashes, on 11:11s, to die with him, so that I would never have to know life without him. But as life has taken these dreams from us, because they were shared dreams, the optimist in me can't help but focus on what I have left to look forward to.
I loved Zach with everything I had. I am still loving him, though it makes me feel so hopeless. I gave him all of me. I did not hide from him. I was more honest with him than I often am with myself. I trusted him fully with my heart and my future. Long before we moved in together, I even wrote my mother an e-mail telling her that Zach was the one. That I fully intended to marry him.
This life I have now, as you may well be aware, is not what I wanted. But what can I do? I can't bring him back. I can only grieve. I can only mourn. I read something in Dideon's Magical Thinking last night that disturbed me, because I think it's what's happening to me. Here, I'll find it and record it for you, but first, some background. Dideon's daughter, Quintana, was in the hospital at UCLA unconscious with some crazy brain bleeding that happened. When Dideon talks about her recovering, she's talking about Quintana's recovering from this injury:
"She (Quintana) was reaching a point at which she would need once again to be, if she was to recover, on her own.
I determined to spend the summer reaching the same point.
I did not yet have the concentration to work but I could straighten my house, I could get on top of things, I could deal with my unopened mail.
That I was only now beginning the process of mourning did not occur to me.
Until now I had been able to only grieve, not mourn. Grief was passive. Grief happened. Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention. Until now there had been every urgent reason to obliterate any attention that might otherwise have been paid, banish the thought, bring fresh adrenaline to bear on the crisis of the day. I had passed an entire season during which the only words I allowed myself to truly hear were recorded: Wel-come to U-C-L-A.
I began."
When I read that last night, I thought to myself, "She's right. I have only been grieving. I have not yet begun to mourn. Not truly." And that's scary to realize, because it means that I have so much more to go through, to face. We all do. Sigh. Le sigh to the highest heavens for a million years and you may begin to touch on what I'm feeling.
There's other topics I'd like to explore. Like, for example, how clamped up I'm becoming around the boys. How similar I'm becoming to the Juliana who was mourning Samantha, but I'd like to think about it a little more before discussing it with you all.
Good news to be had, though. The sun is shining outside. Granted, cloud coverage is pretty heavy still and it's not pure sunlight, but it's still sunlight. And it still helps to banish weary, woeful feelings. Today, if I do not ride my bike, I will at least read another story. I look forward to it greatly.
Anyways, while there, Milena called my attention to this journal Kudu keeps for their customers to write in. It's a journal of thoughts and anyone can write anything they'd like in it. She called my attention to this journal for one particular entry. It was the first entry, I believe. Anyways, I wrote it down really quickly on a notepad file in my computer and posted it later that day as my status on Facebook, but I want to record it here also, just for good measure. (it'll also be added to my feel good notebook. It's the notebook i record in all lovely things said to or shared with me that just make me feel better.) Here you are:
Washa Matumaini
That is Swahilli for "to ignite hope."
Every single person on this earth needs hope and every single person on this earth can ignite it.
When I went to Tanzania the summer after I graduated from high school, the people there who had nothing, but had everything, ignited hope in my life. I found hope in their smiles. In the sunrise over Mt kilmanjaro in the fact that we were able to love each other despite the language barriers.
Don't lose your chance. we're not guaranteed tomorrow.
Love is the answer.
Additionally, before I sign off, I want to say this. Zach will never be replaced in my life. Sure, I expect to find someone I can love again, but they will not replace Zach. Zach will be on my mind until the day I die. I know that I will live my life having "What If" thoughts that will never go away, no matter how wonderful my life might end up being. Please don't confuse my musings about the future as impatience to replace Zach. It simply cannot be done. He was, as I've said before, unlike anyone I've ever known and I don't expect to know another like him. He was, also, while he was here, my future. My life. My what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted more than anything you can imagine to have his children. To be his wife. To share my first home with him. To share everyday I had left with him. I often wished on shooting stars, on eyelashes, on 11:11s, to die with him, so that I would never have to know life without him. But as life has taken these dreams from us, because they were shared dreams, the optimist in me can't help but focus on what I have left to look forward to.
I loved Zach with everything I had. I am still loving him, though it makes me feel so hopeless. I gave him all of me. I did not hide from him. I was more honest with him than I often am with myself. I trusted him fully with my heart and my future. Long before we moved in together, I even wrote my mother an e-mail telling her that Zach was the one. That I fully intended to marry him.
This life I have now, as you may well be aware, is not what I wanted. But what can I do? I can't bring him back. I can only grieve. I can only mourn. I read something in Dideon's Magical Thinking last night that disturbed me, because I think it's what's happening to me. Here, I'll find it and record it for you, but first, some background. Dideon's daughter, Quintana, was in the hospital at UCLA unconscious with some crazy brain bleeding that happened. When Dideon talks about her recovering, she's talking about Quintana's recovering from this injury:
"She (Quintana) was reaching a point at which she would need once again to be, if she was to recover, on her own.
I determined to spend the summer reaching the same point.
I did not yet have the concentration to work but I could straighten my house, I could get on top of things, I could deal with my unopened mail.
That I was only now beginning the process of mourning did not occur to me.
Until now I had been able to only grieve, not mourn. Grief was passive. Grief happened. Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention. Until now there had been every urgent reason to obliterate any attention that might otherwise have been paid, banish the thought, bring fresh adrenaline to bear on the crisis of the day. I had passed an entire season during which the only words I allowed myself to truly hear were recorded: Wel-come to U-C-L-A.
I began."
When I read that last night, I thought to myself, "She's right. I have only been grieving. I have not yet begun to mourn. Not truly." And that's scary to realize, because it means that I have so much more to go through, to face. We all do. Sigh. Le sigh to the highest heavens for a million years and you may begin to touch on what I'm feeling.
There's other topics I'd like to explore. Like, for example, how clamped up I'm becoming around the boys. How similar I'm becoming to the Juliana who was mourning Samantha, but I'd like to think about it a little more before discussing it with you all.
Good news to be had, though. The sun is shining outside. Granted, cloud coverage is pretty heavy still and it's not pure sunlight, but it's still sunlight. And it still helps to banish weary, woeful feelings. Today, if I do not ride my bike, I will at least read another story. I look forward to it greatly.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Post Twenty-Eight: Patience is a Virtue
So hello. I've been avoiding writing down my feelings because I have been chastised for writing things in a blog that anyone can read. It has been hinted to me that it is insensitive to others and causes worry. So now I feel somewhat ashamed for feeling like I'm feeling and that's causing me to hide. Which, I'd like to remind you, is not what we want in this situation.
I've been having a down couple of days. Since Saturday, actually. Especially yesterday. I found myself crying for seemingly no reason at all or..for a reason, but the crying was prompted for what seemed like no reason. And the worst part was that I wasn't able to control when my crying stopped very well. Normally, I can have a short bout of tears and turn it off when I need to, but yesterday, I was not in control of that waterspout, it would flow with or without my permission.
I've mulled over and over the reasons for why I'm no longer able to keep my emotional aegis stolidly in it's place and I believe there are a few factors at play. The weather, for one. We've officially entered a period of gray skies, wind, and always immenent rain. Yesterday, I went over to a friend's house and stuck around despite no one being there. It was nice to pretend I was in my "own" place, you know? But it was also really sad for me because when I went outside to read alone, the wind was too strong and a storm was clearly on the way. And so I burst into tears. I kept telling myself I was crying because I do not want it to rain and that is partly true, but also just a disguise. But the fact of the matter is that outside is my refuge. If it rains, I'll be confined to inside. Inside is too heavy, too dark, brings about memories too easily, too restrictive, etc. I cannot stand the thought of being unable to flee to outside whenever I feel like I'm going to crumble.
For two, i blame the time of the month. my hormone levels are fluctuating and that can make for a very unstable, volatile, emotional lady.
And for three, I'm finding myself pulling away from people like I did before. I'm finding myself speaking about Zach less. I'm finding myself hiding from everyone when I'm down, instead of alerting them to the problem so they can help me out. That's not good. That's what I did after Samantha. I'm beginning to reject everyone because they aren't who I want. But who I want are not available. At the same time, I'm beginning to reject everyone because I fear that they no longer have the time to commit to me whenever sadness strikes. Like I have gone from being understood to being a burden. Does that make sense?
I'm sure that last part isn't true to the people I suspect of feeling this way, but I can't shake that thought. So instead of turning to others, I wallow quietly in my own misery.
Anyways, last night I spent myself some more alone time outside by the dock. The dock. What a therapeutic place to be. I'm drawn there. It was late at night and I was alone, which is no big deal, I don't mind being alone (unless I'm crying. I always want to be caught crying, but somehow never am.) and sometimes it's very liberating. I was singing songs to myself, melancholy songs, songs that were made up and designed to explain how I'm feeling to myself and Zach. And it dawned on me that the number one reason I'm getting down (other than the fact that Zach is gone and I'm beginning to become acutely aware of that with every movement of my body, every flutter of my thoughts) is impatience.
I'm impatient. Impatient to be happy again. Impatient to have the sunshine again. Impatient to know love again. Impatient to be confident again, not so much in myself, but in life going the way I plan. Impatient to find out who I am again. That was something else I also realized last night. I have to find out who I am again, because with the death of someone you've given yourself to, you lose some of yourself and gain something from them and, in addition, from their death. I'm not sure what it is I've gained from Zach's death yet, but I think it's a bit of a mean streak. I'm amused by this, but mostly because I can laugh when other people flat out hurt themselves now and have developed an acumen for making bitter jokes. And I never thought i'd say this, but watching people wipe out is hilarious. (America's Funniest Home Videos now holds opportunity for me to laugh in a way I never have before!)
Here's a thought I also had. I'm worried that since I was loved so much, so fully, for quite some time, that I've grown confident I will be loved like that again. But maybe I'm blinded by Zach's love into thinking that there will be someone else who loves me the same way. And Zach was also incredibly unique, so I fear I'm being delusional thinking that that type of love will exist for me in the future.
At the same time, I fear that I will reject any love that comes my way if it does not equal or surpass the momentousness Zach's love was. Which I don't necessarily deem bad..but if that's the case, I may require more patience than I previously anticipated.
I wish I could tell you, describe to you, clearly and concisely so that you could fully understand what we shared. I can't explain it to you in a way that you can understand, though, unless you've been there before. Words are futile devices. But everyone deserves to know that kind of love. (For I believe there are different kinds of love and that it's possible to go your whole life being in love, but not knowing a love like what we had. An all encompassing, accepting, trusting, shameless, considerate, respectful, adoring love. I was truly myself with Zach in a way that I have never been with anyone else my whole life. All fear of embarrassment was gone when I was with him. I hope he felt, and i do believe he did feel, the same way.)
But I'm on a wild tangent here. The fact of the matter is that I must be patient. Impatience is driving me wildly into despair. So, to get to the other side, I must hold my horses. I must be content to wait and just live my life in the meantime. I must not make any rash decisions. I must not jump at my first chance of a relationship. I must wait until the time is right. I know this.
Anyhow. I've been having a hard time taking delight in the small things these past few days. I think last night was the beginning of my upward climb back to being positive and as happy as this time permits, though. Robin, Meghan, Olivia, and I went to see "What's your number?" last night and I cried the whole way there as silently as I could. It was one of those uncontrollable cries. Plus it doesn't help that the movie theater is smack dab in the area where Zach and I lived our happy life together, so everything is a reminder. I eventually just closed my eyes, hoping that would help, but it really made no difference. Self pity has taken over, so even if i'm cut off from stimuli, I can still find a reason to cry.
But that movie, wow, did it cheer me up. We came out of it and I felt like me again. It was funny and cute and, you know, girl trying to find love finds love without realizing it's there. That kind of thing. I don't expect anything like that to happen for me again for some time, and thus the reasoning behind my "patience" idea, but it gave me hope for myself at least. So even if i'm alone for a little while, a long while, whatever, I will be alright. (It's like they say, "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.)
Circular reasoning prevails!
So, here are the few things that did brighten my day. This one is incredibly odd, but yesterday after biking back from the empty friend's house, I was feeling extremely down, i mean.. crying just intermittently without control. I decided that despite the baleful weather, I'd take a longer bike ride home so I could gain control of myself. I turned onto a street in Zach's parent's subdivision that I'd never turned onto before and was pedaling my way around when I notice ahead of me the most amusing sight (and surprising, too) I've seen in a long while. I believe my vocal reaction was, "No way. Am i really seeing this? Thank you powers that be." What was it that I saw? I saw a penny-farthing. What is a penny-farthing, you may ask? It's this:
I've been having a down couple of days. Since Saturday, actually. Especially yesterday. I found myself crying for seemingly no reason at all or..for a reason, but the crying was prompted for what seemed like no reason. And the worst part was that I wasn't able to control when my crying stopped very well. Normally, I can have a short bout of tears and turn it off when I need to, but yesterday, I was not in control of that waterspout, it would flow with or without my permission.
I've mulled over and over the reasons for why I'm no longer able to keep my emotional aegis stolidly in it's place and I believe there are a few factors at play. The weather, for one. We've officially entered a period of gray skies, wind, and always immenent rain. Yesterday, I went over to a friend's house and stuck around despite no one being there. It was nice to pretend I was in my "own" place, you know? But it was also really sad for me because when I went outside to read alone, the wind was too strong and a storm was clearly on the way. And so I burst into tears. I kept telling myself I was crying because I do not want it to rain and that is partly true, but also just a disguise. But the fact of the matter is that outside is my refuge. If it rains, I'll be confined to inside. Inside is too heavy, too dark, brings about memories too easily, too restrictive, etc. I cannot stand the thought of being unable to flee to outside whenever I feel like I'm going to crumble.
For two, i blame the time of the month. my hormone levels are fluctuating and that can make for a very unstable, volatile, emotional lady.
And for three, I'm finding myself pulling away from people like I did before. I'm finding myself speaking about Zach less. I'm finding myself hiding from everyone when I'm down, instead of alerting them to the problem so they can help me out. That's not good. That's what I did after Samantha. I'm beginning to reject everyone because they aren't who I want. But who I want are not available. At the same time, I'm beginning to reject everyone because I fear that they no longer have the time to commit to me whenever sadness strikes. Like I have gone from being understood to being a burden. Does that make sense?
I'm sure that last part isn't true to the people I suspect of feeling this way, but I can't shake that thought. So instead of turning to others, I wallow quietly in my own misery.
Anyways, last night I spent myself some more alone time outside by the dock. The dock. What a therapeutic place to be. I'm drawn there. It was late at night and I was alone, which is no big deal, I don't mind being alone (unless I'm crying. I always want to be caught crying, but somehow never am.) and sometimes it's very liberating. I was singing songs to myself, melancholy songs, songs that were made up and designed to explain how I'm feeling to myself and Zach. And it dawned on me that the number one reason I'm getting down (other than the fact that Zach is gone and I'm beginning to become acutely aware of that with every movement of my body, every flutter of my thoughts) is impatience.
I'm impatient. Impatient to be happy again. Impatient to have the sunshine again. Impatient to know love again. Impatient to be confident again, not so much in myself, but in life going the way I plan. Impatient to find out who I am again. That was something else I also realized last night. I have to find out who I am again, because with the death of someone you've given yourself to, you lose some of yourself and gain something from them and, in addition, from their death. I'm not sure what it is I've gained from Zach's death yet, but I think it's a bit of a mean streak. I'm amused by this, but mostly because I can laugh when other people flat out hurt themselves now and have developed an acumen for making bitter jokes. And I never thought i'd say this, but watching people wipe out is hilarious. (America's Funniest Home Videos now holds opportunity for me to laugh in a way I never have before!)
Here's a thought I also had. I'm worried that since I was loved so much, so fully, for quite some time, that I've grown confident I will be loved like that again. But maybe I'm blinded by Zach's love into thinking that there will be someone else who loves me the same way. And Zach was also incredibly unique, so I fear I'm being delusional thinking that that type of love will exist for me in the future.
At the same time, I fear that I will reject any love that comes my way if it does not equal or surpass the momentousness Zach's love was. Which I don't necessarily deem bad..but if that's the case, I may require more patience than I previously anticipated.
I wish I could tell you, describe to you, clearly and concisely so that you could fully understand what we shared. I can't explain it to you in a way that you can understand, though, unless you've been there before. Words are futile devices. But everyone deserves to know that kind of love. (For I believe there are different kinds of love and that it's possible to go your whole life being in love, but not knowing a love like what we had. An all encompassing, accepting, trusting, shameless, considerate, respectful, adoring love. I was truly myself with Zach in a way that I have never been with anyone else my whole life. All fear of embarrassment was gone when I was with him. I hope he felt, and i do believe he did feel, the same way.)
But I'm on a wild tangent here. The fact of the matter is that I must be patient. Impatience is driving me wildly into despair. So, to get to the other side, I must hold my horses. I must be content to wait and just live my life in the meantime. I must not make any rash decisions. I must not jump at my first chance of a relationship. I must wait until the time is right. I know this.
Anyhow. I've been having a hard time taking delight in the small things these past few days. I think last night was the beginning of my upward climb back to being positive and as happy as this time permits, though. Robin, Meghan, Olivia, and I went to see "What's your number?" last night and I cried the whole way there as silently as I could. It was one of those uncontrollable cries. Plus it doesn't help that the movie theater is smack dab in the area where Zach and I lived our happy life together, so everything is a reminder. I eventually just closed my eyes, hoping that would help, but it really made no difference. Self pity has taken over, so even if i'm cut off from stimuli, I can still find a reason to cry.
But that movie, wow, did it cheer me up. We came out of it and I felt like me again. It was funny and cute and, you know, girl trying to find love finds love without realizing it's there. That kind of thing. I don't expect anything like that to happen for me again for some time, and thus the reasoning behind my "patience" idea, but it gave me hope for myself at least. So even if i'm alone for a little while, a long while, whatever, I will be alright. (It's like they say, "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.)
Circular reasoning prevails!
So, here are the few things that did brighten my day. This one is incredibly odd, but yesterday after biking back from the empty friend's house, I was feeling extremely down, i mean.. crying just intermittently without control. I decided that despite the baleful weather, I'd take a longer bike ride home so I could gain control of myself. I turned onto a street in Zach's parent's subdivision that I'd never turned onto before and was pedaling my way around when I notice ahead of me the most amusing sight (and surprising, too) I've seen in a long while. I believe my vocal reaction was, "No way. Am i really seeing this? Thank you powers that be." What was it that I saw? I saw a penny-farthing. What is a penny-farthing, you may ask? It's this:
I followed that penny-farthing rider all over the neighborhood, very creepily I might add, and smiled the whole time. It turned out that this rider was in fact a woman, I originally assumed it was a man. She was wearing this beige, almost safari-ish hat that just.. oh it totally made the scene. And she lives at the same intersection the Jones' reside.
What a find! She did eventually catch me following her and I never said anything to her because I was embarrassed to be caught, but I hope I see her again so I can let her know how much her hobby did for me yesterday when I thought nothing could cheer me up.
I also purchased 15 books for $10.50 yesterday at a big book sale downtown. Want to know what they are (i'm excited about all of them!)?:
- The Worlds Fifty Best Short Novels [In Ten Volumes] Vol. 8.
It was published in 1928, is pocket sized, and contains the following four stories:
1. "The Flower of Spain" by Joseph Hergesheimer
2. "Twenty-Three and a Half Hours' Leave" by Mary Roberts Rinchart
3. "Smith and the Pharoahs" by H. Rider Haggard
4. "How Gavin Birse Put It to Mag Lownie" by Sir J. M. Barrie (haha, that one sounds amusing)
- The House of the Seven Gables
- The House of Dies Drear
- The Word Lover's Dictonary: Unusual, obscure, and preposterous words. (I picked this one out because of the word "dendrophilous")
- Art AFTERPieces (This contains pictures of famous pieces of art that have been painted over so that something modern has been added in. Imagine "Portrait of my Mother" by Whistler with a television set painted in so that his mother is comfortably watching TV.)
- A book of Emily Dickinson's poetry. (Inspired by a good friend I met because of Samantha)
- Get Thee to a Punnery (A book of puns!)
- Simple Life, Simple Poems by Michael Czarnecki. Poems about living the simple life in the great outdoors.
- The Subway Chronicles. A book of essays about the "tales, dramas, and comedies that unfold during the daily commute" on the subway.
- There's a Word for It!: A Grandiloquent Guide to Life. I got this book because I constantly find myself thinking "oh...what's the worrrrrdd!?".
- Houseplants. An amateur's guide to growing plants indoors.
- The Big Book of the '70s: True Tales from ten years of tackiness and tumult! (It's a comic book containing over 50 of the world's top comics artists).
- Behind a Mask: The Unknown Thrillers of Louisa May Alcott. The reason I purchased this book is because it says that it is "by far the better way to become acquainted with Alcott's racier side." Oooh la la!
- Generations by Pattian Rogers. It's a book of poetry containing "densely detailed, thickly textured poems describing the natural world and one's place in it."
and finally!
- Webster's Pocket Thesaurus. Which i promptly put into my handbag.
Whew! I forgot about some of those books! I've got quite a bit of reading to do.
I want to find a reading companion. Someone who will sit contentedly by and read while I read. Samantha was one of my very few.. in fact only friend who would do this with me.
I'm off to face this dreary day with a book by my side. My weapon from the ever knocking doldrums.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Post Twenty-Seven: One with the Sun
While driving around West Ashley today paying my & Zach's 2nd to last water bill, I was listening to my iPod on random and one of Zach's songs came on. Normally I don't like to listen to his songs that he made before we lived together because I want to be able to talk to him about them or hug/love on him because they just impress me so much. But this one song I played five or six times in a row. I learned all the words and wrote them down. It's an incredibly upbeat tune and here's what it says. Simple... yet... profound:
I move with the wind
Now that I'm one with the Sun
I move with the currents
I am the Atlantic Ocean
I move with the lions
All because of a cat scan
I move with the African tribes
Because I am in Africa
Aaaafriiiicaaa
Aaaafrriiccaaa-aaa--aaa--aa
Ooh oo uh Ohh oo uh ooh
I move with the clouds
My name is precipitation
I move with the crowd
I am Woodstock 99'
I move with the rhythm
I'm a fucking metronome
I move with your eyes
Your eyes move to Africa
Aaaafriiiicaaa
Aaaafrriiccaaa-aaa--aaa--aa
Ooh oo uh Ohh oo uh ooh
So yeah. There you have it. Maybe I'll figure out how to post it here so you can hear it, because that's what really matters.
Post Twenty-Six: Relating to Dideon
Just stopping by to record a passage from Joan Dideon's The Year of Magical Thinking page 74-75. I was reading it last night and this particular page struck me, felt relative.
"People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces. I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others. The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness. It is the look of someone who walks from the ophthalmologist's office into the bright daylight with dilated eyes, or of someone who wears glasses and is suddenly made to take them off. These people who have lost someone look naked because they think themselves invisible. I myself felt invisible for a period of time, incorporeal. I seemed to have crossed one of those legendary rivers that divide the living from the dead, entered a place in which I could be seen only by those who were themselves recently bereaved. I understood for the first time the power in the image of the rivers, the Styx, the Lethe, the cloaked ferryman with his pole. I understood for the first time the meaning in the practice of suttee. Widows did not throw themselves on the burning raft out of grief. The burning raft was instead an accurate representation of the place to which their grief (not their families, not the community, not custom, their grief) had taken them. On the night John died we were thirty-one days short of our fortieth anniversary. You will have by now divined that the "hard sweet wisdom" in the last two lines of "Rose Aylmer" was lost on me.
I wanted more than a night of memories and sighs.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted him back."
And for those who have not read "Rose Alymer" (for I had not), here it is:
"Rose Alymer" by Walter Savage Landor
Ah what avails the sceptred reace,
Ah what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Alymer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
Anyhow. The truth is. I want nothing more than to talk to Zachary. Right now that is my biggest desire. I want to ask him all sorts of questions, like usual. There's nothing abnormal about that. I want to listen to his voice, that voice of playful wisdom. I want to know how he feels, what he thinks about all of this. I want him to tell me he's so sorry that our life took this turn. I want him to tell me he's so angry his life took that turn. I just want his humanness, his physicality. I want to feel my head against his chest in the most encompassing hugs I'd ever received. Hugs that made me feel like the world's, life's cruelty, unkindness, anything negative could not touch me. Safe. I want to be safe again.
Oh sigh, that's all we have isn't it? Nights of memories and sighs. Nights & days, too. Zach, I miss being able to make up incredibly, cloyingly, sweet nicknames with you. I want to call you all sorts of those nicknames, but feel silly doing it. It's no fun if there's no one around to appreciate them. And it's not fun when there's no reciprocal names to be had. Your spirit is not nearly as satisfying as your corporeal being. It doesn't talk to me. It doesn't comfort me. If anything, I feel ignored by it.
Moving forward, it was not my intention to write today other than Dideon's passage. So there you have some impromptu musings. I've been stringently avoiding the idea of Zach's passing. It's a difficult thing to do here. It's easy to ignore his missing presence, but sometimes my brain feels that idea lapping at it's heels and before you know it, I'm sucked into a terribly stoic realization that just makes me feel like my soul has been sucked from my chest. Because to me, that is where my soul resides. And it's sucked from my chest in order to hide itself from those thoughts.
I saw a V formation of geese this morning. I shouted "hello" to them and after I did so, they stopped squawking. I wonder if they were reacting to me or just decided to be quiet in that moment? I also collected more seeds this morning from the flowers I used to grow on my and Zach's patio. Seeds of happier days.
There's an Architecture and Helsinki song I've been randomly finding myself shouting/singing throughout the day. It's "Need to Shout". I like it for it's chorus, "When you need to shout, no one's ever listening." And for the line "All that's left is hesitations from your previous life." I often feel those hesitations. They have a large effect in my life.
Here, listen to it. It's really quite a happy sounding song. And fun to shout "when you need to shout" along to. Shouting. The vocal equivalent of sprinting. And man, does it feel good. Architecture in Helsinki: Need To Shout
And with that gift, I'm off to feel this beautiful day. Clouds happened yesterday. It had been four days of no clouds and I found some last night. But this morning, the sky is yet again cloudless. So bring on the sunshine. Today I say farewell to some of the boys. They move to Chicago! It's exciting, but goodness, does it tug at my heart. I will so so miss them. But I'm going to enjoy every last minute I get. And I'm going to indulge in the world, natural world, around me. And my kaleidoscope and comfort stones, my pacifiers. Ciao for now. <3
"People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces. I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others. The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness. It is the look of someone who walks from the ophthalmologist's office into the bright daylight with dilated eyes, or of someone who wears glasses and is suddenly made to take them off. These people who have lost someone look naked because they think themselves invisible. I myself felt invisible for a period of time, incorporeal. I seemed to have crossed one of those legendary rivers that divide the living from the dead, entered a place in which I could be seen only by those who were themselves recently bereaved. I understood for the first time the power in the image of the rivers, the Styx, the Lethe, the cloaked ferryman with his pole. I understood for the first time the meaning in the practice of suttee. Widows did not throw themselves on the burning raft out of grief. The burning raft was instead an accurate representation of the place to which their grief (not their families, not the community, not custom, their grief) had taken them. On the night John died we were thirty-one days short of our fortieth anniversary. You will have by now divined that the "hard sweet wisdom" in the last two lines of "Rose Aylmer" was lost on me.
I wanted more than a night of memories and sighs.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted him back."
And for those who have not read "Rose Alymer" (for I had not), here it is:
"Rose Alymer" by Walter Savage Landor
Ah what avails the sceptred reace,
Ah what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Alymer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
Anyhow. The truth is. I want nothing more than to talk to Zachary. Right now that is my biggest desire. I want to ask him all sorts of questions, like usual. There's nothing abnormal about that. I want to listen to his voice, that voice of playful wisdom. I want to know how he feels, what he thinks about all of this. I want him to tell me he's so sorry that our life took this turn. I want him to tell me he's so angry his life took that turn. I just want his humanness, his physicality. I want to feel my head against his chest in the most encompassing hugs I'd ever received. Hugs that made me feel like the world's, life's cruelty, unkindness, anything negative could not touch me. Safe. I want to be safe again.
Oh sigh, that's all we have isn't it? Nights of memories and sighs. Nights & days, too. Zach, I miss being able to make up incredibly, cloyingly, sweet nicknames with you. I want to call you all sorts of those nicknames, but feel silly doing it. It's no fun if there's no one around to appreciate them. And it's not fun when there's no reciprocal names to be had. Your spirit is not nearly as satisfying as your corporeal being. It doesn't talk to me. It doesn't comfort me. If anything, I feel ignored by it.
Moving forward, it was not my intention to write today other than Dideon's passage. So there you have some impromptu musings. I've been stringently avoiding the idea of Zach's passing. It's a difficult thing to do here. It's easy to ignore his missing presence, but sometimes my brain feels that idea lapping at it's heels and before you know it, I'm sucked into a terribly stoic realization that just makes me feel like my soul has been sucked from my chest. Because to me, that is where my soul resides. And it's sucked from my chest in order to hide itself from those thoughts.
I saw a V formation of geese this morning. I shouted "hello" to them and after I did so, they stopped squawking. I wonder if they were reacting to me or just decided to be quiet in that moment? I also collected more seeds this morning from the flowers I used to grow on my and Zach's patio. Seeds of happier days.
There's an Architecture and Helsinki song I've been randomly finding myself shouting/singing throughout the day. It's "Need to Shout". I like it for it's chorus, "When you need to shout, no one's ever listening." And for the line "All that's left is hesitations from your previous life." I often feel those hesitations. They have a large effect in my life.
Here, listen to it. It's really quite a happy sounding song. And fun to shout "when you need to shout" along to. Shouting. The vocal equivalent of sprinting. And man, does it feel good. Architecture in Helsinki: Need To Shout
And with that gift, I'm off to feel this beautiful day. Clouds happened yesterday. It had been four days of no clouds and I found some last night. But this morning, the sky is yet again cloudless. So bring on the sunshine. Today I say farewell to some of the boys. They move to Chicago! It's exciting, but goodness, does it tug at my heart. I will so so miss them. But I'm going to enjoy every last minute I get. And I'm going to indulge in the world, natural world, around me. And my kaleidoscope and comfort stones, my pacifiers. Ciao for now. <3
Monday, October 3, 2011
Post Twenty-Five: Day & Night
I am two hours and two minuets into the first full month after Zach's fall. It's incredible that I'm here. It's unbelievable that I'm here so soon. It feels like all of this started only last week. And yet, I feel a million years older.
In this moment, right now, I am weary. I am tired. I look at myself in the mirror and don't recognize the woman looking back. The areas under my eyes are darker. They tell horror stories. Maybe that's just horror movies lingering in my mind.
As you may have noticed from previous posts, I am dealing with a lot of anger right now. It's directed at both Samantha and Zach. I love both of them so much, but I feel very betrayed by them right now, collectively. It may be wrong to say, but if only one death had occurred, I believe I would not feel such a strong sense of betrayal. But now that two have happened in such a short span, I can't help but feel as though I can't trust people to live long enough to share my future with me.
It's dumb, really, to feel that I can't trust people because look at all the people who have been with me from the very beginning. (Haha, I almost wrote Samantha, by reflex). My parents, for example. My siblings too have stuck around. And grandparents. I'm lucky to still have all of my grandparents.
But Samantha and Zach. Wow. Just. People I loved indescribably immensely not because we were related, not that that is any less of anything, but because I wanted to love them, because they were my soul mates. People who understood me so easily and who loved me back. People who I shared my deepest secrets with. People who experienced me in my most shameful moments, in my most depressed moments, in my happiest moments, in my angriest moments, and in my most honest moments. They have seen me fail. They have seen me succeed. They have seen me do absolutely nothing for anyone. They have seen me be selfish. They have seen me be kind. They have seen my talents. They have seen my weaknesses. They, among anyone in this wide world, knew me best because of the love we shared with one another. And I knew them as they knew me.
I saw them in shame. I saw them in love. I saw them in happiness. I saw them succeed. I saw them fail. I saw them vulnerable. I saw them stolid. I saw them condescend. I saw them praise. I saw them be them.
They saw me be me. And the beautiful thing is, they loved me anyway.
It's unfortunate that my life has taken these turns. And that theirs have, too. It instills a lot of bitterness within me and makes it difficult for me feel as though I am unable to fully commit myself to anyone like that again.
With this bitterness, I also feel strangely calm. Strangely logical. Strangely cold. And yet, also, intensely emotional and sentimental. I am, at this point in my life, as contradicting as day and night. I believe the word for me now is ambivalence.
So far, my steps in grief have been feeling tantalized to feeling aggrieved to feeling ambivalent. I love how the GRE has prepared me with the words to describe these times. I often noted how most of the words were things like dirge, wistfulness, languid, listless, doleful, lugubrious, wretched, forlorn, morose, disconsolate, contrite, bemoan, rue, fulminate, tribulation, and the worst one to be applicable yet bereaved. I often was grateful that as I studied them, I could not relate to them. I never realized how quickly they would become relevant for me, again. And as I continued to study after Zach's fall and in addition to Samantha's, I found learning words like precarious, precipitate, purchase, impetuous, imprudent, gamble, etc, brought them to mind.....
Anyhow. Let's switch from night to day, though this may be very tedious for me given my current state. Positives: The blue, cloudless sky today. The comfortable refuge found in both the shade and sun today. The refreshing wind. The bright plumage of cardinals. The dulcet tones of mocking birds and sparrows. The gleaming display my comfort stones put on in full sunlight. The patience shown by my friends and family as they listen to me ramble away. The fact that my brother consumed a tiny octopus today. That one makes me smile just thinking about it. The hug I received from an old friend I had not seen since high school that lifted me off the ground. The brief, once ina life time moments in which I was wearing a sculpted astronaut helmet and he was simultaneously wearing a sculpted wolf headdress. The art boxes he gifted to me and the random contents they held. The most mystifying text messaging tactic I've seen in ages that engenders cleverness. My new habit of collecting notes about phrases I hear or images I see throughout the day to help me make witty comments, jokes, and comics later. A fortune cookie fortune that predicts a very pleasant surprise for me in the near future. The collection of seeds from the most alluring little flowers planted on my parents front porch. The fact that I knew how to collect those seeds. The reminiscence of the scents that are given off by jasmine, gardenia, and wisteria. The time I got to spend with all my immediate family members this weekend. Watching the sweetest kitty attempt to catch a bug. The musical musings of Architecture in Helsinki and the fun I have just yelling nonsense right along with them. And kind words from kind people, my people.
And now that I have successfully conjured a somewhat tired, but sincere nonetheless, smile on my face, I will sign off. Good night, confusing world. Good night, day. Good night, night. Good night lost friends and good night found ones. And sweet, sweet, sweet dreams.
In this moment, right now, I am weary. I am tired. I look at myself in the mirror and don't recognize the woman looking back. The areas under my eyes are darker. They tell horror stories. Maybe that's just horror movies lingering in my mind.
As you may have noticed from previous posts, I am dealing with a lot of anger right now. It's directed at both Samantha and Zach. I love both of them so much, but I feel very betrayed by them right now, collectively. It may be wrong to say, but if only one death had occurred, I believe I would not feel such a strong sense of betrayal. But now that two have happened in such a short span, I can't help but feel as though I can't trust people to live long enough to share my future with me.
It's dumb, really, to feel that I can't trust people because look at all the people who have been with me from the very beginning. (Haha, I almost wrote Samantha, by reflex). My parents, for example. My siblings too have stuck around. And grandparents. I'm lucky to still have all of my grandparents.
But Samantha and Zach. Wow. Just. People I loved indescribably immensely not because we were related, not that that is any less of anything, but because I wanted to love them, because they were my soul mates. People who understood me so easily and who loved me back. People who I shared my deepest secrets with. People who experienced me in my most shameful moments, in my most depressed moments, in my happiest moments, in my angriest moments, and in my most honest moments. They have seen me fail. They have seen me succeed. They have seen me do absolutely nothing for anyone. They have seen me be selfish. They have seen me be kind. They have seen my talents. They have seen my weaknesses. They, among anyone in this wide world, knew me best because of the love we shared with one another. And I knew them as they knew me.
I saw them in shame. I saw them in love. I saw them in happiness. I saw them succeed. I saw them fail. I saw them vulnerable. I saw them stolid. I saw them condescend. I saw them praise. I saw them be them.
They saw me be me. And the beautiful thing is, they loved me anyway.
It's unfortunate that my life has taken these turns. And that theirs have, too. It instills a lot of bitterness within me and makes it difficult for me feel as though I am unable to fully commit myself to anyone like that again.
With this bitterness, I also feel strangely calm. Strangely logical. Strangely cold. And yet, also, intensely emotional and sentimental. I am, at this point in my life, as contradicting as day and night. I believe the word for me now is ambivalence.
So far, my steps in grief have been feeling tantalized to feeling aggrieved to feeling ambivalent. I love how the GRE has prepared me with the words to describe these times. I often noted how most of the words were things like dirge, wistfulness, languid, listless, doleful, lugubrious, wretched, forlorn, morose, disconsolate, contrite, bemoan, rue, fulminate, tribulation, and the worst one to be applicable yet bereaved. I often was grateful that as I studied them, I could not relate to them. I never realized how quickly they would become relevant for me, again. And as I continued to study after Zach's fall and in addition to Samantha's, I found learning words like precarious, precipitate, purchase, impetuous, imprudent, gamble, etc, brought them to mind.....
Anyhow. Let's switch from night to day, though this may be very tedious for me given my current state. Positives: The blue, cloudless sky today. The comfortable refuge found in both the shade and sun today. The refreshing wind. The bright plumage of cardinals. The dulcet tones of mocking birds and sparrows. The gleaming display my comfort stones put on in full sunlight. The patience shown by my friends and family as they listen to me ramble away. The fact that my brother consumed a tiny octopus today. That one makes me smile just thinking about it. The hug I received from an old friend I had not seen since high school that lifted me off the ground. The brief, once ina life time moments in which I was wearing a sculpted astronaut helmet and he was simultaneously wearing a sculpted wolf headdress. The art boxes he gifted to me and the random contents they held. The most mystifying text messaging tactic I've seen in ages that engenders cleverness. My new habit of collecting notes about phrases I hear or images I see throughout the day to help me make witty comments, jokes, and comics later. A fortune cookie fortune that predicts a very pleasant surprise for me in the near future. The collection of seeds from the most alluring little flowers planted on my parents front porch. The fact that I knew how to collect those seeds. The reminiscence of the scents that are given off by jasmine, gardenia, and wisteria. The time I got to spend with all my immediate family members this weekend. Watching the sweetest kitty attempt to catch a bug. The musical musings of Architecture in Helsinki and the fun I have just yelling nonsense right along with them. And kind words from kind people, my people.
And now that I have successfully conjured a somewhat tired, but sincere nonetheless, smile on my face, I will sign off. Good night, confusing world. Good night, day. Good night, night. Good night lost friends and good night found ones. And sweet, sweet, sweet dreams.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Post Twenty-Four: Switching Gears
So, I've been doing a lot of thinking and re-reading my blog and I find that I'm getting pretty tired of the whininess it's taken on. I mean, I know shit times are happening, but really, I don't think the people who have passed on that mean so much to me would approve of this. Thus, I'm switching gears. I am moving on to greener pastures, in that I'm moving on to happier thoughts instead of harping on the useless, unhappy ones I've been spewing forth lately (I mean..how attractive is that?)
I began my new journal today. It's very exciting and red and HUGE and I love it. I spent five of it's very ginormous pages introducing myself and all of my importants (meaning important people) who will often be mentioned. This is by far the longest introduction I've ever written (I usually keep it to just a page or two), so I guess that means there's a lot of people out there and a lot of things that describe who I am right now. (write now.)
I know that people who read my blog and don't see me on a day to day basis must think that I'm worse off than I am. I have been spending a lot of time writing in my blog only when I'm unhappy, lonely, or angry, so it comes off as me being that way all the time. But the truth is, I am, for the majority, alright. "Hanging in there" is my favorite term to use. I spend a lot of time with friends and together, we spend a lot of time playing, laughing, joking, whistling, singing, and in general, just having fun. That's not to say that I don't miss Zachary or Samantha every day, because I do, but I know what they would want me to be doing and it would not be complaining or crying. Yes, these things are fine sometimes, but I'm tired of dwelling on them in my blog. My blog was not built for grief, it was built to surpass it and become myself again. So, let's focus on that from here on out, okay? I'm sure there will still be posts ranting and raving about Zach or Samantha and the subsequent feelings their deaths have put in me, but I'm going to use those sparingly. I mean, there's really only so much I can say on those topics anyhow and I feel I've exhausted them.
I was thinking on it (cogitations, ya know), and I realized that the reason, or one of them, that I felt that I was losing my words was because I was only focusing on one topic. And without realizing it, I had run out of things to say. So, I'm turning my attention to the future. The future is the cure all. On the other side of this time are my goals and like a safety line with a life saver at the end, they are pulling me through to the happier days.
After Samantha, I became very in tune with the natural world around me. I started planting things, creating life in the face of death. It brought me so so so so so much joy. So, to help cope with worrisome thoughts and to comfort myself, I purchased some lovely, tumbled rocks from Black Market Minerals on Thursday. I've been carrying them with me ever since and I have to say, I often find my stone of the day in my hand without realizing I'd even pulled it out of my pocket. That's a good sign, I think, and I like feeling connected to something so purely natural.
The weather is turning and with it I hope to turn my perspective. When I first wrote about Zach, it sounded, or felt, hopeful, because I was focused on "living as many moments happy as possible," which was something he'd taught me. But I think I lost that somewhere along the way and became obsessed with "Oh why me, oh you darn Zach, why'd you do that, I'm abandoned, sad, alone, etc." It's time to move past that and I know this. Why? Because I feel it, I feel myself being annoyed with myself. I feel that Zach would be annoyed with me for forgetting so quickly the things he took the time to implant within me. I feel like everyone else should be annoyed with me, too. Please don't reassure me that it's okay to have these "why me" thoughts, because I know that, but it's NOT okay to dwell on them so incessantly.
Life goes on. The world continues to turn on it's axis. People's birthdays approach and pass. Hair grows is cut and grows again. Shoes rip. Paychecks are issued. Creatures die. Creatures enter life. (Simba tells us, what is it? Oh yes, the Circle of Life.) Time ticks continuously without pause.
When in college and faced with an arduous project or intimidating test, I often used to remind myself, "Juliana, a week from now, you will not even remember or care about this project/test. You will have passed it and moved on."
And so, with that thought, a year from now, my life will be completely different if everything goes according to plan. Even a month from now, I can expect new things.
Now is the time for new beginnings. As I told Brittni when I announced to her Zach's death, a new era has dawned. It's not what I wanted or asked for, but it's what I've got and I will have to make due. Life isn't all bad. It's just life. And I've still got mine and despite tragedies, I still have so much to live for and so much potential and an amazing group of people, my importants, around me always. It's so surprising, though maybe it shouldn't be, to see just how many people really do care and want the best for me. Even people I thought had forgotten about me take the time to reach out to let me know they're there. Even people I don't know, but who know of me, let me know they care. It's incredible. And it is the fuel that will get me through.
So, everyone. Today, when you find yourself feeling down, feeling ousted by the world, feeling bitter, feeling lonely, just remember this: You are still here on this big beautiful wonderful planet, and yes, we are missing someone very dear, but that will never stop. We will miss for the rest of our lives, and new people will continue to get added to our missing list. Don't let that missing hold you back or keep you from being grateful for what you've got. Remember Zach, Remember Samantha, Remember your parents, your friends, your children, your siblings, your pets, your loved ones, and for their sake and in their name, live happily. It's what they would want and that cannot be negated.
When you're bogged down, step outside and breathe that air. That air in and of itself is a miracle. And so are you. And so is your existence here. Do not forget that.
I began my new journal today. It's very exciting and red and HUGE and I love it. I spent five of it's very ginormous pages introducing myself and all of my importants (meaning important people) who will often be mentioned. This is by far the longest introduction I've ever written (I usually keep it to just a page or two), so I guess that means there's a lot of people out there and a lot of things that describe who I am right now. (write now.)
I know that people who read my blog and don't see me on a day to day basis must think that I'm worse off than I am. I have been spending a lot of time writing in my blog only when I'm unhappy, lonely, or angry, so it comes off as me being that way all the time. But the truth is, I am, for the majority, alright. "Hanging in there" is my favorite term to use. I spend a lot of time with friends and together, we spend a lot of time playing, laughing, joking, whistling, singing, and in general, just having fun. That's not to say that I don't miss Zachary or Samantha every day, because I do, but I know what they would want me to be doing and it would not be complaining or crying. Yes, these things are fine sometimes, but I'm tired of dwelling on them in my blog. My blog was not built for grief, it was built to surpass it and become myself again. So, let's focus on that from here on out, okay? I'm sure there will still be posts ranting and raving about Zach or Samantha and the subsequent feelings their deaths have put in me, but I'm going to use those sparingly. I mean, there's really only so much I can say on those topics anyhow and I feel I've exhausted them.
I was thinking on it (cogitations, ya know), and I realized that the reason, or one of them, that I felt that I was losing my words was because I was only focusing on one topic. And without realizing it, I had run out of things to say. So, I'm turning my attention to the future. The future is the cure all. On the other side of this time are my goals and like a safety line with a life saver at the end, they are pulling me through to the happier days.
After Samantha, I became very in tune with the natural world around me. I started planting things, creating life in the face of death. It brought me so so so so so much joy. So, to help cope with worrisome thoughts and to comfort myself, I purchased some lovely, tumbled rocks from Black Market Minerals on Thursday. I've been carrying them with me ever since and I have to say, I often find my stone of the day in my hand without realizing I'd even pulled it out of my pocket. That's a good sign, I think, and I like feeling connected to something so purely natural.
The weather is turning and with it I hope to turn my perspective. When I first wrote about Zach, it sounded, or felt, hopeful, because I was focused on "living as many moments happy as possible," which was something he'd taught me. But I think I lost that somewhere along the way and became obsessed with "Oh why me, oh you darn Zach, why'd you do that, I'm abandoned, sad, alone, etc." It's time to move past that and I know this. Why? Because I feel it, I feel myself being annoyed with myself. I feel that Zach would be annoyed with me for forgetting so quickly the things he took the time to implant within me. I feel like everyone else should be annoyed with me, too. Please don't reassure me that it's okay to have these "why me" thoughts, because I know that, but it's NOT okay to dwell on them so incessantly.
Life goes on. The world continues to turn on it's axis. People's birthdays approach and pass. Hair grows is cut and grows again. Shoes rip. Paychecks are issued. Creatures die. Creatures enter life. (Simba tells us, what is it? Oh yes, the Circle of Life.) Time ticks continuously without pause.
When in college and faced with an arduous project or intimidating test, I often used to remind myself, "Juliana, a week from now, you will not even remember or care about this project/test. You will have passed it and moved on."
And so, with that thought, a year from now, my life will be completely different if everything goes according to plan. Even a month from now, I can expect new things.
Now is the time for new beginnings. As I told Brittni when I announced to her Zach's death, a new era has dawned. It's not what I wanted or asked for, but it's what I've got and I will have to make due. Life isn't all bad. It's just life. And I've still got mine and despite tragedies, I still have so much to live for and so much potential and an amazing group of people, my importants, around me always. It's so surprising, though maybe it shouldn't be, to see just how many people really do care and want the best for me. Even people I thought had forgotten about me take the time to reach out to let me know they're there. Even people I don't know, but who know of me, let me know they care. It's incredible. And it is the fuel that will get me through.
So, everyone. Today, when you find yourself feeling down, feeling ousted by the world, feeling bitter, feeling lonely, just remember this: You are still here on this big beautiful wonderful planet, and yes, we are missing someone very dear, but that will never stop. We will miss for the rest of our lives, and new people will continue to get added to our missing list. Don't let that missing hold you back or keep you from being grateful for what you've got. Remember Zach, Remember Samantha, Remember your parents, your friends, your children, your siblings, your pets, your loved ones, and for their sake and in their name, live happily. It's what they would want and that cannot be negated.
When you're bogged down, step outside and breathe that air. That air in and of itself is a miracle. And so are you. And so is your existence here. Do not forget that.
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