The In-Between Season

There’s something special about the ability to laugh at the unexpected sensation of cold water seeping through socks on the bathroom floor.

It’s a small-scale metaphor for the way the world can jar you out of comfort zones. Out of peaceful moments. How suddenly things can change. The last year of my life was rife with both quiet and loud tragedy. I still spin sometimes. I have moments when a scent or sound or memory – sometimes it’s a word in the crossword - brings up that familiar, indescribable ache. As the season changes and summer approaches, I feel a pull to the garden of the hospital, to sit among the herbs and budding flowers, listening to my Dad spill drug-and-impending-death induced wisdom in long, slow sentences.

“You don't have to talk about forgiveness. You can talk about all the reasons to do it. But we already know why. You just have to walk through it. You gotta forgive."

“When I look at you guys, and how you see the world... I swear I've never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life…”

I feel that sense of limbo creeping back in. That silent, still, empty feeling. (It’s strange how we can feel so empty, and so full of love at the same time.) I remember how I felt separated from the world and myself – and yet so completely attuned and aware of the massive transformation that was coming.
I was not going to be the same person when this was over.
I was no longer the person I was before he shared the news with me.

I remember vacillating between the quiet reality that sometimes, breaks don't come - Instead, the last petal falls spinning, as fast as the world seems to be spinning out. And with that thought, part of that thought, was the welling in my chest of how fucking beautiful the world is, and life, and how deeply I loved everything. They were the same thing.

But then, too, were the moments a panicked child would scream from some depth I never knew existed for someone to please, please come save her dad.

Once, I was very particular about where things went and how things looked. Some assume it’s an issue of control, perhaps leftover from growing up in a chaotic household with many kids and little-to-no privacy. But in truth, for me, during times of emotional distress, order in the rooms I find myself in helps my mind stay quiet enough to function when I shouldn’t even be able to. These days, the temperature is rising and sun is slowly becoming a more regular occurrence. It’s all the same. Soon-to-be summer breezes, slow jazz sounds, saxophone buskers, old-friend-run-ins, on-the-water views... all except the hospital visits. And my residence, that’s changed. I live alone now, save for my canine BFF. My home is in disarray most days. And I’ve noticed, I don’t care. I’ve learned, part of this transformation is valuing the time spent away from creating order. The freedom of not needing to fix something. The acceptance of all these human tendencies to become annoyed or disgruntled on the fly at a look from a stranger, or a confrontation at work, or a bad driver. Or, the most baffling of all - what I think someone else might be thinking of me. I catch myself carrying that one around and it gives me a good chuckle, now. The fact that I can come home from running 3 days full throttle at work for a special occasion, step in dog faeces, groan and genuinely laugh out loud about it…
it doesn’t fucking matter.
None of it.

What matters is how you see the world. 

My friend mentioned last summer, regarding our family and my father’s final days, “I know the world can't stop, but sometimes it could slow down a little to let those who need more time have it.” It was a beautiful thing to say, and I felt the love sent through it. But the truth is, the world doesn’t do that. We have to find the balance between feeling the things we need to feel and sucking shit up to be present.
This moment will never come around again.

Someone at my work who has borne witness to this life-changing loss of a parent, as well as other hardships of the past year involving difficult loss, described me as one of the most “durable” people they know. It makes sense that he used a word to describe long-lasting home appliances, given that in large part I’ve intellectualized a lot of what’s happened while delaying the process of feeling it through. I would say the term “robotic” would also apply to the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. I hear this is normal for people experiencing fresh grief. Now that I have thawed out somewhat, I’ve discovered this ability to laugh at the small misfortunes I see others getting strung-out over. I’m seeing myself more social, and although in some aspects I’ve become more self-conscious, I’ve also come out of my shell, so much I don't quite recognize myself some days.

Although I’m still figuring out who exactly I have become or am becoming, mostly I’m learning how to stop figuring that out, and just be. Because Dad’s parting gift was teaching us that as terrifying as it can be, it's ok to show some of your messy.

He taught us how to die with grace and dignity - which is to say, he taught us how to live.

A Love Letter to Hundreds

I had to lose nearly everything
to uncover what was missing.

This is a love letter to hundreds.

If we crossed paths and spoke,
if our eyes met in interesting conversation
or silence,
and even, especially, if they didn't -
I looked for you.

To those of you who may not know me well,
you'll learn it's true,
I do find you beautiful.
In the way our combined space, our differences, our humanness
makes room for forgiveness
of all things;

My too-quick-judgements.
My self-absorption.
My tendency to isolate
despite knowing I could probably, maybe trust you.
The reckless side that forgets to open my eyes,
Who stumbles through getting to know you,
Who trips over the knots tied in childhood
that I've yet to undo.

The fumbling,
From months, maybe lifetimes,
with barely any hand holds,
or fingers on forearms while speaking.
The world needs more touch.
I'll strive to find the balance between
showing all my affections,
Without being misleading.
I know well that some can mistake me,
And any power gained isn't worth the pain of your beautiful heart.

I'll strive to stay open,
Even if it means opening to the side of me
that sometimes has to close.

There is a kind of freedom found
in being surrounded by others
who let me in.
Even more in understanding
That not everyone can -
Granting me permission to have my own
so-called flaws,
to accept the whole.

There's the entrance.

I see you.
I love,
And will always keep my eyes raised
to your lovely faces.

Just Before The Green

Spring makes the Earth soft,
like a new thing,
Soon to be budding,
While the woodsmoke fades.

We uncover our tender places,
Roots that rise through warm mud.
I was a post for new antlers
And you took off my skin.

If only we'd been less thinking,
More, deeply listening,
The way I know what I don't want,
I am unwanted, too.

The way, we both already knew.

I'm glad for what I didn't show,
And what it taught me of you.
As grateful for the smoothness
Reestablished,
Giving us both
More room to grow.

If I Were Anyone Else

If I were anyone else, I'd say,

Dear lovely thing,
Open your eyes!
All around are encounters of the universal kind.

Some say magic,
Some say fate,
I say the world is a beautiful place.

And when the 'need' to know arises,
Consider it's a liar,
Convincing you it's safer to see all you can in advance.

You don't need to know when and how to dance.
Just close your eyes, slow the mind,
Open your hands.

Yes, you're still a little shaken.
A little less collected than expected.
Brief connections show you this;
All of it,
Is just what is.

Although you love to make it so,
There is no line between the world and you.
Here is what's true:

There is no outcome worthy of your fear.

Just be here.

If I Were More Myself

If I were more myself today...

I would say I am hopeful, a little locked inside, a bit afraid,
but mostly in the midst of a healthy hesitance
to let go or be foolish, despite a powerful intrigue,
and youthful desire to do so.

I'd tell you I have a fierce desire to make a space for you,
where you'd be comfortable with me
as you are with your own thoughts at night.

I'd like to know the side of you that's safe in silence and space between us.
I'd like to be calm enough to be present for those, and not want to distract.
Be still.

I'd like to be close friends.
In the way that when you're excited about something, pleased or proud,
I'm one of the ones you think to tell.
I want you to understand enough of me that you'd be interested in the same,
because any seemingly superficial reasons for excitement come from a deeper place,
and have a lot of healing weight.

I'd like to kick your ass in something.
Anything.
Except, I kind of don't...

I'd tell you I'd like to come out of my shell, talk to you the way you want,
find words in person
and in bed
to drive you mad -
and equally as much, I want you to lie quiet, no talking allowed,
no persona or fantasy to hide behind.
Take my time, slowly, completely present to each body part I touch,
each contact of my skin on yours,
each breath and wave of desire I can sense and respond to.

I want to watch you go all the way over the edge
to a soulful, moaning climax,
and feel your weight fall after.

I want to know your facial expression when you're at your most vulnerable,
with no attempt to cover, fade or fix it.

Above all, I want you to be
wherever you are, at any moment.
For anything less than real would leave us both with the slight, haunting taste of dissatisfaction.

~

If, when we meet and have learned something of eachother,
And you don't fit the above, let's be friends.
True ones, who love and are brim with understanding - but not to be confused with in-love.

If you do... let's not be such fools
As to keep our face to the ground for a too-long timid minute -
there is no dawn that shines in shyness.

Let's be brave and unabashed, but only if we're ready,
because timing isn't part of what's within our own, albeit powerful, grasp.

Let's be kind, and true, regardless of bruises to the ego.
Let's be vulnerable,
And let what's right and natural come as it may, no forcing, no longing -
When you long, keep your feet to the ground, your seat in the cushion, and stay present.
Look around.
Be happy where you are now,
and natural outcomes will be sure to surprise you.

Coffee Talks

I walked by
a serious conversation
in a coffee shop
between father and son.
It all came back.
My knees went a little weak
Remembering
when he told mom.
When she held herself
composed
until we turned a corner
and then I thought
I'd have to carry her to the car.

I remember wishing
I could feel grief like that.

And I wondered
If the news
In the coffee shop today
was shaking their world
As mine had shaken.

In that moment,
Wishing I could go back
and hear it again,
To feel grief like that.

Still in the aftershocks
Even once it's over
And he's gone.

July

July.

The middle of life opening, 

for most

Is when he had to go.

His bad days became always

And what it meant changed

From sadness and stress

To death.

For a moment he stayed

Only to say

Of all the things he'd accomplished

We were the best.

And then he left.

First to sleep hours away,

Waking angry that we didn't wake him to say, 

"not yet -

There's still life to live!"

 

But what could we have said?

To wake the bones,

To take away the regret?

On the day his breath

Became rattled and ragged

I watched the sunrise.

Then went and told him

I watched it, for him -

The moment when the sunlight

Is enough to see the other side

But still the city lights shine

Bright enough.

The in-between,

He shared with me

Unknowingly.

We told him of his bravery

And grace.

We kissed his face,

And said, "we'll be ok."

This was today.

The mind I needed,

The voice that spoke to

Depths of soul and truth -

Cut through to it,

Gently, without apology.

Rests, 

finally, 

knowing

How powerful his love,

And that he's loved.