Grief
I'm witnessing my life as I've known it gently and slowly dissembling around me. It doesn't always feel gentle or slow and I'm not quite sure what I mean about me being in the middle, because my idea of me is also gently and slowly dissembling. It's awful sometimes and exciting others and I can usually feel my feet on the earth and the sky in my breath and this swirling is both welcome and terrible.
Many things are happening: I am grieving. My dear friend died. Not unexpected and really, her death was joyful and peaceful and illustrated in no uncertain terms how much a part of living death is. But in the end, she is still dead, and I am still grieving, not in the least because somehow, in the time leading up to her death, I forgot how precious our time together was. I somehow forgot that she was dying. I didn't trust her to be able to hold things for me or for me to be able to hold things for her and now... now is too late. How could I have forgotten?
And it's my grandfather now too. My mom and the doctors haven't said it, but what I see is a man who is ready, who is willing, who is gracious. His body is giving up and he is ok with that. And really, I am too, and I want to tell him that he was the best grandfather I could have asked for, that his voice and his presence were always a source of joy and comfort for me, that I never stopped learning from him, and that I love him so much. I also want to tell him to stay as long as he wants, and to leave when he's ready. Que cera, cera. Whatever will be, will be, he sang to me. I can't forget that our time now is precious too, and I can't talk to him because he's not aware enough to have a conversation without help right now. So, what is more precious, my dear? Saying these things to him, or not having others listening know about your soul?
My darling and I reached a spot, looked around and realized that we were in a different place than the type of relationship we'd been having. The type of relationship we'd been having for the last 12 years, although I think both of us knew from time to time, knew even as we gazed at each other and felt that no one ever loved each other as we loved each other, knew that this spot was a possibility, maybe a likelihood. Our relationship, both stable and wobbling, held together with this and that, unbraiding under the pressure of different desires, long distance, sexuality and also love. This is a way to support each other, to be together even though it hurts and feels like separation. And it is exciting and when I left the house, crying, pain and pressure in my chest, I felt a tiny white flame leap within me.
My work is changing and I'm not sure what it will look like. I was a teacher, I was a philosopher, I was taken advantage of and underpaid and that is over now. Well. I'm not getting paid to do anything right now and that is this side of nervewracking, but I'm a resourced person and I'm going to figure it out before it gets too difficult. But years of work in this direction have ended and I am no longer a philosophy professor, underpaid or otherwise. This is a position I worked towards for basically the last 15 years and sometimes I look back and wonder why. But still I cling in someways, and sometimes the clinging looks like throwing it as far away from me as I can.
Many things are happening: I am grieving. My dear friend died. Not unexpected and really, her death was joyful and peaceful and illustrated in no uncertain terms how much a part of living death is. But in the end, she is still dead, and I am still grieving, not in the least because somehow, in the time leading up to her death, I forgot how precious our time together was. I somehow forgot that she was dying. I didn't trust her to be able to hold things for me or for me to be able to hold things for her and now... now is too late. How could I have forgotten?
And it's my grandfather now too. My mom and the doctors haven't said it, but what I see is a man who is ready, who is willing, who is gracious. His body is giving up and he is ok with that. And really, I am too, and I want to tell him that he was the best grandfather I could have asked for, that his voice and his presence were always a source of joy and comfort for me, that I never stopped learning from him, and that I love him so much. I also want to tell him to stay as long as he wants, and to leave when he's ready. Que cera, cera. Whatever will be, will be, he sang to me. I can't forget that our time now is precious too, and I can't talk to him because he's not aware enough to have a conversation without help right now. So, what is more precious, my dear? Saying these things to him, or not having others listening know about your soul?
My darling and I reached a spot, looked around and realized that we were in a different place than the type of relationship we'd been having. The type of relationship we'd been having for the last 12 years, although I think both of us knew from time to time, knew even as we gazed at each other and felt that no one ever loved each other as we loved each other, knew that this spot was a possibility, maybe a likelihood. Our relationship, both stable and wobbling, held together with this and that, unbraiding under the pressure of different desires, long distance, sexuality and also love. This is a way to support each other, to be together even though it hurts and feels like separation. And it is exciting and when I left the house, crying, pain and pressure in my chest, I felt a tiny white flame leap within me.
My work is changing and I'm not sure what it will look like. I was a teacher, I was a philosopher, I was taken advantage of and underpaid and that is over now. Well. I'm not getting paid to do anything right now and that is this side of nervewracking, but I'm a resourced person and I'm going to figure it out before it gets too difficult. But years of work in this direction have ended and I am no longer a philosophy professor, underpaid or otherwise. This is a position I worked towards for basically the last 15 years and sometimes I look back and wonder why. But still I cling in someways, and sometimes the clinging looks like throwing it as far away from me as I can.
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