It hit me recently that I have had little to share of my own story
here in over a year. Oh, don't get me wrong. It's not that there
haven't been things going on. However, in terms of anything
specifically related to this journey through Hell that is grief,
there has not been as much, or at least not much new. Two more
anniversaries of her suicide have gone by, one relatively benign (if
such a word can ever fit) and the last harsher than experienced for
several years. It seems that's par for the course. I doubt that day
will ever completely pass me by without the sting of it taking my
attention, if even for a moment.
I've come to accept that this journey leaves it's marks. Whether
it's from the price of entry or what goes on during the trek, it
leaves its traces and scars. No one I've met and talked to on this
road has come through completely unscathed and unaffected. It does
have benefits, again if that word can ever be used without a twitch
or twinge. Greater compassion for others, greater understanding of
what truly matters in life, less concern about things that don't
matter, increased self-awareness...all of these seem to come, to one
extent or another. But there are also prices exacted for them, some
of which seem to be ongoing. At this point, I can't say for sure.
It has been just over six years; I don't know how it will look or be
by 10 or 15 or 20.
I do know, though, that it is no longer the central, dominating point
in my life. I know that not every waking moment is, if not defined
by the grief and loss, somehow touched or tainted by it. I don't
recall a day that has gone by where some thought of her hasn't come
to mind. However, they no longer consistently have the power to take
my breath away, to drop me to my knees, or even to stagger me.
Again, don't get me wrong. Those things do still happen. They have
become more occasional, though. Much more the exception to the rule.
More often these days, when they do affect me like that, it is more
of a brief stagger than a near-collapse. I imagine it to be like
someone with an old wound from a bygone injury, who sometimes feels
the twinge in a knee or feels an arm briefly go weaker. Reminders
but not catastrophes.
I had thought this might only be an epilogue to the story I started
telling here, but it seems there is one last idea that wants to make
itself known, and it's tied to the idea of there being a coda to at
least this part of my story. Life has moved on, and not all the ways
in which it has done so have been painful or bad. I've found new
accomplishments and the ability to find joy and satisfaction again,
both in new things and in returning to some I'd feared permanently
contaminated by her memories and loss. Perhaps one of the greatest
has been having the capacity to see a future returned to me. Before
then, looking ahead showed me only a series of grayscaled images of
me, standing in front of a house with a car in the driveway and a cat
in the window. As they'd progress, perhaps the details would change,
a new car, a different house, a different cat. And me just getting
older until my time would just...run out.
That's not the case anymore. I can now see a future. The images
have color and vibrancy to them, and they call to me. I find I've
had a return of the capacity for hope that I'd started to believe had
been burned out of me by the sadness and confusion and fear. It's
still a new thing. I'm still having to learn how to balance it out
in my experience again, not being too driven or carried away by
excitement. At the same time, also not getting overwhelmed by the
occasional fear something might not work out and those seemingly
fragile hopes might be dashed. But that doesn't seem like dealing
with grief and loss anymore. Instead, it seems like it's re-learning
how to live, revisiting lessons from my teenage years. As
uncomfortable as that can be, I'm OK with it. Coming alive is a good
thing.
Just as important, I've found the capacity to love again. That's a
long story, one for another place and another time. What is relevant
is that it's returned. As of just over a week ago, I got engaged.
Yes, there is some fear of things ending as they did, or at least as
badly as they had, before. But now there is also the hope that they
may go well. Along with that, there is the feeling that the chance
is worth taking. One complication is that she lives in another
state. It's a situation we're working to resolve, though it won't
happen as fast as either of us would like. For now, we're having to
content ourselves with visits when and how we can. She just left
four days ago from such a visit, which was when our engagement was
formalized between us. Seeing her off at the airport was, as I'd
expected, painful. Adjusting to her not being here again has also
been hard.
It's brought what I'd first been tempted to call the final lesson.
Realistically, though, I'm not sure of its finality, so perhaps it's
better to say the latest lesson: sadness is not the same as
grieving. The first time she left, it was nearly devastating. Even
though the visit had gone well and all was good between us, I found
myself reacting as if she had disappeared from my life for good. The
water glass and coffee cup she had used went unwashed on my
countertop for weeks. I couldn't bring myself to undo those
reminders that she had been here, that we had shared some cherished
time. There were other indicators, too, all of which told me I was
desperately clinging to those memories, and much of that from the
fear that was all there would be. Irrational, I know, but
nonetheless undeniable.
This time around, though, I can see that coming up, and I have the
sense of sadness. I also can see how it differs from grieving a
loss. Yes, it still hurts that she isn't here. I suspect that will
be the case for at least several more days. But I can bring myself
the reminder that she isn't gone, not in any permanent sense. I have
reminders enough, not the least of which are two pictures of our
hands together with her engagement ring clearly prominent. I know
she loves me and wants me in her life as much as I love and want her.
I know I will see her again, and that the day will come when such
departures are much more the exception rather than the consistent
state of affairs. I'm learning how to be sad again, and not fall
back into grieving what part of me still fears is a tremendous loss.
Much like learning to have and manage hope again, it's another lesson
to re-learn. It's another that I take on willingly, and even
gratefully.
For now, it seems the story I have to tell here has come to its
close. Mine hasn't; it still goes on. But the purpose for this blog
seems to have run its course. I may put up more; I may not. Regardless, I'll leave this here for others to
find as they may need it. I know the stories of others helped me
make it through. Knowing that someone else had had to trudge these
paths, to push through each of the circles and layers of Hell, and
had been able to come out on the other side gave me hope. I'd offer
it out to those who sadly must follow, that it might be a similar
source of hope and encouragement. As frightening and painful as it
can be, this kind of Hell has no power of its own to hold us fast.
It only gets that when we stop pushing through ourselves. Each step
might be only a fraction of a millimeter, but each fraction brings us
closer to the final egress. There are times to fold and cry, times
to stop and rage, times to pause and question the apparent
capriciousness and cruelty of creation. If we can continue on,
though, we will make it out. In Dante's original work, it meant
making it down through all the circles of Hell, finally past the lake
of ice in which Lucifer was forever frozen, to find the ultimate way
out and onward. It can be done. It requires only willingness and
persistence.
To those that follow, know my heart is with you. For what it might
be worth, know you have my blessing, my encouragement and my love.
This Hell cannot stop or bind you. You can make it all the way down,
and ultimately out. Others have made it. I am no saint, and if a
man like me can make it through, then rest assured you can as well.
Know we are on the other side, cheering you on. Despite its power to
frighten and confuse and sadden and enrage you, Hell ultimately has
no hold on you. Your heart and spirit are your own.
You can get through. You can get out.
No comments:
Post a Comment