The Gratitude Project: Day 16: Time
August 4th 2008 00:25
After my finance's death when I was 21, I was in such a fragile state…. so filled with darkness. I did not know where I was. I was lost. Intellectually I was aware that the bereaved lose many different things with death. Often they lose not only the person, but the self that was in the relationship to that person and in a sense, the self they knew is lost. Prior to this time, I felt invincible and strong. It never occurred to me that there might be an alternative future for me. I was filled with anti-rage…an otherworldly stillness. I was walking underwater in mud trudging through my life. My world melted. I felt like everyone was speaking in far ancient tongues. I was upended and just wanted to be at peace and I was fearful that I would end up with a bitter hardened heart.
Suddenly I was a vaporous wind that continued to dissipate. My friends and family were trying to collect smoke of the person they thought I was, but my identity was buried 6 feet underground in a North Texas cemetery. I had been fiancée, dutiful daughter, and university student, and now the who I was ceased to exist. No one knew what to say, so no one said anything. I was exhausted and empty and isolated. And yet the clock ticked, the world turned, and life continued. I was overcome with an unpleasant feeling of uselessness. My survivor’s guilt was overwhelming that I was left behind. My fiancées parents loved me in his life but deeply resented me in his death. His friends treated me as half a set of well loved paired bookends. I realized the things that once brought me pleasure now just didn't seem to "fit" anymore. Suddenly I wasn't able to comfortably settle into them like I used to--they hadn't changed, but somehow the lens through which I viewed, left them somewhat duller--seemingly too simple, too one-dimensional, too blurred.
And as if that inner turmoil were not confusing enough, the external world decided to turn me into its own personal Pushmi-pullyu. I wanted to be all right, but I was unsure of how to--and instead of helping me make that journey, friends and family started sending me mixed messages--wavering between continuing/desperately desiring to still treat and protect me one moment, while demanding me to “get over it" the next.
I remember reading his headstone when it was finally ready and placed on his grave, and actually reading his name and the date of his passing and my ears ringing with the surrealism of the finality of his death. I couldn’t believe that several months had passed since I last had heard his small town drawl; see his signature sideways glance, and his cowboy swagger. It was then and there that I was overcome with the need to escape the crushing weight of the grief of mourning an unlived life…his and mine. In the past I had relied on intellect for existence. My cognitive abilities were spent. It was hard to identify at a distance those things I didn’t have a reference to. I could not get my head around what happened. There were too many options…predestination, irony, randomness, etc…. inertia had taken over my life.
I needed a change of scenery so I decided to take a year off of college to regroup. College held too many ghosts. I ended up in Los Angeles hoping to get lost in the shuffle of a large urban experience. I needed space and time to grieve. The door of my “life” was bolted shut as if to keep the storm within. I needed help saying goodbye so I chose LA. LA was a great place to grieve. So brown. So hazy. So detached. So impersonal. So dead.
I wanted to be as far from my literal home as possible. But where and when is “home?” What is a home if not that place which is more than any other place, secure, familiar, and supportive?
Maybe during this time I believed that my “home” represented an extension, an expansion, a place of nurturance, and primitive protection for me who believed that I had been hurled prematurely out into the world during that fateful fall day outside of Detroit. Like a door ajar, the sting of death’s wind, the oppression of that day’s events, the nameless threats which the darkness contained, the many masks of death, were mistakenly let in. I did not feel safe from the ache of futility and meaninglessness that stalked me elsewhere.
It’s been very difficult for me to even explain to myself what this “lost period” of my life actually felt like. I really have no words. I was alive, but not breathing. I was breathing, but not emotionless, and unable to respond to even the simplest of inquiries. I chose a job whereby there was little or no interaction with others and I could be left in thought and sadness. Where the person I really was the joyous, animated, creative person full of childlike wonder, curiosity, and good, pure, unadulterated, unashamed love, was transformed into some shadow person walking around, with some unseen wizard behind a curtain operating my sleeping body like a puppeteer. Sending my cloudy brain and heart just enough of a signal to allow me to vaguely exist, but feel not much of anything like Sleeping Beauty, if she were in a zombie coma. I, was the living dead girl, just barely managing to survive, more day in the dark, blurry world of the spellbound, my shoulders heavy, my breath labored under the burden of the enchantment cast on me by others, for just being a survivor.
Like an adolescent, I felt unready and afraid of this new state of being. I felt strange in my skin. I felt I couldn't possibly be accepted into this world of mysterious adulthood, because I don't know how to act in it. I felt I will be called out for a fraud, ridiculed, made ridiculous in my grand entrance into the party with my first attempt at being grown-up.
I realized that I had to let go those behind me, whose embraces now no longer felt like comfort, but only holding back. And in the world in front of me, well, those there are fully realized and didn’t even see me yet; they don't even know I need a hand up. And I felt guilt at leaving them in their pain, as well. They already hurt so much; how could I hurt them more with my leaving? I was afraid to leave my "old" people. If I left them...they might be hurt. And what if I failed? Who would be left for me? What would be left for me? Who was going to be there to hold me while I pass through this valley from one state of being to the other?
After a while I became homesick, Even for the relief of this “new place” I was so homesick for the comfort of home and the beauty and the particularity of Texas. I felt nostalgic for familiar things like my family, friends, pets, house, and neighborhood. I missed things as simple as my bed or the tree outside my window.
The word “home” implied something about family, my inner parentage and the nature of my relationships with others. I was constantly amazed at how much place mattered. I longed for the landscape of home; I missed it with a kind of desperation I can hardly understand. I missed the brilliant blue Texas, the crystal-clear air, the way it pushes the enormous white clouds up against the towering oaks. Suddenly there was a young woman in the mirror asking me: “What are you doing here?” Ironically, in this feeling of homesickness, where my mind spun a bit with the memories of people and places I missed, eventually I found solace and a remembrance of why I was there whether it was a subconscious reaction to soften the pain, or just the re-affirmation of living.
Suddenly, I started getting reminded of things back home and realized that I really missed them: decent Southern cuisine, crisp winter mornings with familiar radio disc jockeys and copious amounts of Dublin Dr. Pepper. At the same time I lost my appetite for adventure and the jetsetter life – I didn’t want to see any more clubs and fashion and beautiful paper doll people, I just wanted familiarity.
But now, something has shifted in me. I've done it myself--I've purged some of my pain and the habits that come with it. And now, because of that, I find I can't be in that place anymore. I can't receive the same comfort, even when I do it all the exact same way I did it before. Like trying to put on my favorite old children's clothes on my budding adolescent body, things are tight, uncomfortable, and awkward. They no longer FIT. As I grow older the dream of what could have been dims. Memory is such a fickle faculty though, because we can never reconstruct how we thought at any moment in the past. Only the distilled residue remains, like the sediment in an old bottle of wine.
My former finance' becomes more ghost like as the memories fade. I let go and embrace what I have now. To this day I imagine I hear his Larry Mahan’s on hardwood floors, see his cowboy rugged good looks, smell his Jovan Musk for men cologne. Sometimes when I do dream which is not very often, I feel him beside me holding my hand or lying next to me. It is always startling when I wake up and realize that I am 25 years older and life has moved on.
Image by stekepanne through Flickr protected by a Creative Commons License
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Comment by katyzzz
Photography Tips
MS Paint Art
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
I'm sorry for your sadness and loss.
Tracy
Comment by Mr Nice Guy
Pop Culturist
Pop Rock Factory
Your piece stopped me in my tracks this morning. To label it as heartfelt scarcely does it justice. To say that its honesty and compassion captured my emotions and allowed me for a moment at least to walk in your shoes is a testament to you and your warmth.
I too am sorry for the sadness you had to go through and the loss you still endure.
Hugs and love from the Nice Guys
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Thanks so much for your kind comment. It was indeed very hard but I have to say in the end, it has made me more grateful, more hopeful, and more determined to live my life in a way that means something. Thank you so much for this:
but you've come through with flying colours,
Quite a compliment. Made me verklempt....
, I think I would have stayed as close as possible to home. It is amazing how different we all are, but we still all feel the pain.
I must say, I surprised myself too. I could not believe that I chose that! Thank you for being such a supportive reader. It means a lot.
Mis
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Thanks so much for this:
Mis, this is so beautifully written and vivid. I couldn't stop reading. Thank-you for being so honest about death and its consequences. Too often, it's littered with trite cliches that leave a person feeling empty and alone.
I think that is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said. This is my first attempt to write about this experience. A friend of mine challenged me to write it. Mission accomplished. I am proud that this event did not leave me bitter or filled with hopelessness.
Mis
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Your comment got me all misty. This is the 25th anniversary of my fiance's death so I thought I needed to be with the living once and for all! Please hug your family for me and know that it is caring folks like you that make all the difference.
Mis
Comment by Lilla
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
everyone has an antidote, dont they ... and yet the dark night of the soul must be traveresed alone. Some make it, some don't ... through the surreal road to acceptance.
I am glad you did.
Lilla ...
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
and yet the dark night of the soul must be traveresed alone. Some make it, some don't ... through the surreal road to acceptance.
Very well said friend! Thank you so much for your supportive comments.
Mis
Comment by Ash
Flashes of memories
I have to reiterate what MNG said, this is an amazing outpouring of emotion. I feel all choked up after reading it.
I don`t quite know how to express what i feel when reading this, but it`s a power punch to the heart, that`s for sure. I hope in some, even tiny way, there has been light out of this darkness for you.
Much love
Ash
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
Friend. I am so grateful for the opportunity this tradgedy has offered me. Your comments mean so much to me. I almost did not write this but I gave my word to a friend. I am glad that I was able to share it with you guys!
Mis
Comment by Ash
Flashes of memories
xxx
Comment by Miswanderlust
Killer Beats
Ramble On
Hipnotherapy
You are so right.... my friend is awesome! And so are you ! Thanks for your kind words!
Mis