I had a hard time coming up with a title for this post. Nothing quite seems to capture what I want to say. So I decided to just start writing and I'd let the title come to me as I type.
The past few weeks have been a nightmare mixed with moments of happiness and raw emotion. I realize that I am running the risk of sounding melodramatic and as though I'm courting sympathy, and that's fine. Not everyone will understand, nor do I expect folks to. What I will say, however, is that losing a close friend under tragic, violent circumstances is a life-changing experience. I think it's impossible to see the world the same way again. People's true natures come to light in times like these; the fabric of who they are capable of being is revealed, and oftentimes it's disappointing or even ugly. And then there's my perception of the world. I am fearful...for my kids, for myself and my husband. I feel vulnerable, as though truly for the first time in my life I realize how at the mercy of others we are. I keep my children close and love them hard and often. I check, double check and triple check locks on doors. I make sure my dogs are around when I'm home. I am afraid of humanity.
There is joy, too. There is the love that my family and close friends have expressed. The love that knows not to ask too many questions, or to let me talk in my own due time. The love that makes getting through another day bearable.
Losing someone you love is a strange thing, a dichotomy of different emotions. There is a persistent cloud, a heaviness, a shadow that follows you around...first thing when you wake up, it's there; throughout the workday, it's there; laughing with friends and family, it's there; going to bed at night. Always there. It's an emotional and spiritual burden that I just wish would go away. I want to be normal again. I want to be ME again! Aye, but there's the rub...once my cloud lifts, I won't be grieving anymore. I will get on with my life, and (is it possible?) start to forget. The idea or possibility of forgetting a loved one gone too soon makes for a guilt like no other. It makes me consider my responsibilities as the friend who is left behind.
I know there are many in my life who have deep religious faith, and who wish that I shared this. I don't. While I respect that others do, and in some ways am even a tad envious that they have that faith to comfort them in times of great sorrow like this, I have found that my current situation makes my lack of faith even more concrete. And perhaps, in some ways, that does bring small comfort to me. While the world, and my emotions, and all that is good and bad swirls around, and I unable to make sense of it all, knowing who I am inside is one little sanctuary.
And I just found the title to this post.
2 comments:
I've been wondering where you've been! I've felt the absence of your voice. I'm so sorry to hear this horrible news. Sending you love, my friend.
When the fear of loss becomes overwhelming for me, as it periodically does, I like to contemplate the following observation from C.S. Lewis. It reminds me the risk of love is infinitely better than the alternative, as tough as it can be sometimes.
“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”
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