A tattoo of two intertwined spoons: “. . . too silly for something so real.” (The Good Doctor) Too silly? Would, two people entwined in each other’s arms be better? Yes, if I wanted a literal picture, but abstract or fun is more interesting! Two spoons, simply meaning love, or how about actual spoons, the best way for two to devour a pint of ice cream or scoop out life together? Maybe, embrace whoever, whatever you love? Real can be boring, rigid, serious, constrained; unfortunately, how life presents itself way too often. Why not, whenever I can, make it silly, meaning frivolous, playful, lighthearted, like life was like as a child – my grandchildren, experts at easily pulling farts, burps, and poo into normal, every day living and conversations. Their mother taught them how to lighten a difficult day with “restart your day” – head to your room, lay down, rest a bit, “wake up”, and start the day over without the difficult. Instead I seem not to mind when difficult unravels my spoons, letting it continue the separation for far too long. Is real always meant to be seen as serious? No! Adding some silly, and multiple restarts to lighthearted are great choices to reconnect my spoons.
Not Just “Keep Away”
After watching a hockey game where both teams played excellent defense, I thought, you can’t win with just excellent defense. Somebody has to make an offensive play, shooting towards the net, to not end up with a 0-0 tie. Hockey is the games, “keep away” and darts, played at the same time, except the darts can travel 80+ mph, and instead of using hands with amazing opposable thumbs, it’s skates and a stick! I can’t win with just excellent defense in the game of life either. Playing “keep away” to block the “puck” currently being hurled at my life can keep a tie going forever. I’ll need to take control of the puck and start playing darts, messing with its direction if I want a chance at breaking the tie. Susan 0, Life 0 isn’t a score that inspires me to head back to center ice for another “face off”. Only being a clear winner or loser can do that, therefore I must be my own goalie, AND in the midst of slippity-do-dah, find a way to shoot the puck towards life’s net – a remarkable 80+ mph slap-shot, or an up close and personal tap. Score or not, keep shooting.
The intro to this blog on Twitter: The game of life is like the game of hockey. It takes more than defensive moves to win or lose, and I’ll accept either to not prolong a 0-0 tie.
Never? Always?
“. . . and never grieve for those whose time has come.” (The Return of the King) Two issued arrived. One: who/what determines “time has come”? I would say age. My logic, somewhere in the 80’s. My parents qualified – I didn’t grieve for them, instead happy they experienced life for so long. My husband didn’t make it that far, so how would he qualify? Maybe we’re each allocated so many years, months, days, hours, minutes; simply reaching one’s expiration date. My husband would qualify, except in the story I’ve heard, the stork never mentions an expiration date when she delivers each package! Maybe “time has come” is chosen by a higher being, and no matter how much I disagree, or how sound my argument, it won’t make a difference. A joke I heard long ago: After getting on a plane and voicing my fear of flying, I was told, don’t worry, it’s not your time. What if it’s the pilot’s time? Two: I don’t believe never or always is a choice when it comes to grief. I can’t conjure it up, can’t stop it from arriving, can’t make it go away, can’t turn it off and on. What I can do, is learn how to hold it.
The intro to this post on Twitter: When it comes to advice about grieving, there’s two that don’t apply. Never and always. It never has been, nor ever will be, a choice.
Me Or Time?
I’ve witnessed denying reality in two ways. The first – create a life in my mind, running parallel to the real one, but where horrific doesn’t exist, in fact nothing exists except muscle memory – repetition of long-established patterns performed without thought. A defensive move to dim the spotlight shining on the aftermath of death by going through the motions of living in the smallest sense of the word. The second – making up a far better life than the real one – where ignore takes less effort than accept, and happened, happening can wait for time to fix them. An offensive move to shine a bright spotlight on a fake reality, creating a tidy world, easily maintained by denial, leaving the messy, real one unattended in a dark corner. I discovered a dim spotlight shining on real reality softens the harshness of happened, which brings awareness of happening and the understanding it’s me who must fix their impact. But a spotlight re-directed towards a fake reality, can become a pattern so wonderful it’s easier to live amidst the lies than the truth. But only in refusing to deny, in accepting the truth, can living be experienced in the largest sense of the word.
Intro for this blog on Twitter: When it comes to fixing a messy world, it’s either me or time. Time inspires the question, how much time? Me means waiting until I’m ready, but even the smallest smidgen of ready is enough to get started.
Consider Not Enough
While my granddaughter was sleeping, I kissed her forehead and thought, if she was forever gone tomorrow, would that be enough. Enough tender moments, enough of her laughter or hearing her say my name and the words, “I love you”. It would have to be, but I’d always want more. I can’t remember ever asking myself while I was married the same question regarding tender moments with him, his laughter, or hearing him say my name and “I love you”. Why the difference? Because knowing her from day one made it possible to grow a connection between us, therefore she’s easy to love. Knowing him began at nineteen, the connection would have to be a graft; not just a branch, but the trunks. And what better tape to seal the connection than my soul, where love was given free reign. But my heart started reigning in that love, regularly burying and unburying it, with or without reasons. My mind began spending some of that love, making room to store resentment, file away hurts, and stack up irritations. Not so easy to love. And, even more tragic? Never, ever considering the stark reality of the answer, not enough – if he was . . .
Don’t Wrap The Present
(Already Included, continued) For my hurtful, unhappy past to be impactful forever, I’d have to “Wrap everything surrounding me in endure”. (What’s The Alternative? blog, Dec-2020) Doesn’t sound as tasty as wrapping scallops in bacon! Endure, means tolerate, withstand, which means continually, noticeably present. The present is simply “right now”, unable to pull anything in because there’s no room. Unfortunately, I’m not unable. I can choose to pull the hurtful, unhappy past forward, to wrap it around “right now”, to feel its presence. But here’s the thing, I was hurt, I was unhappy, and if it’s enough to change me, it’s already done its work, and if I’ve done mine, it can’t hurt me now unless I let it. The future works the same way. When I use worry or fear to pull it back into the present, I wrap every moment with, will happen. But here’s the thing, I might be hurt, I might be unhappy, but it can’t change me or do its work just yet, it can’t hurt me now unless I let it. A weighted blanket helps me surrender to sleep; impactful, not noticeably present. But wrapped around me all day? Unnecessary weight to be endured, like hurts from either side of “right now”.
Intro to this blog on Twitter: The best way to keep a hurtful, unhappy past or a scary, uncertain future, from impacting the present, is to stop using them as wrapping paper.
Already Included
I can’t look directly at my back, it’s impossible. I know it’s there, I can touch it, it’s doing its job of creating stand tall and bend. It can sometimes ache. I need to use a mirror, no two; using one to reflect a reflection of my back, therefore it’s something I rarely do. The same could be said about the past, with a few opposites. I can’t look directly at my past, it’s impossible. I know it’s there, I can’t touch it, it did its job of helping me stand tall and also bend. It can sometimes ache. I need to use my memories to see a reflection of my past, and my mind to reflect on it, therefore it’s something I can do often; not to retrieve the wonderful, but the hurtful, not the happy, but the sad. It can’t be changed, so why can’t I let it just sit there and not bother me? Why replay the hurtful, the sad? It matters? If so, for what purpose? It’s part of me? Yes, but already included. The past, accumulated each minute without my permission, impactful forever? Not if I require it to need my permission. Sorry, not granted! (to be continued)
Without User Intervention
“. . . how would, gone tomorrow feel?” (Awareness – Part 1 blog, Nov 2020) I wrote this blog to help me realize I should cherish who I have, but my answer today landed on, pretty darn good. If that pile of crap I mentioned in yesterday’s blog disappeared, it would feel amazing. Is that then, what I should hope for? Yes, but hope can create various size doses of denial, so can’t stop at hope. I should also address the complete opposite – it will never disappear – thereby adding a dose of reality. Doesn’t, hoping it will end, while addressing it never will, net to zero? Nope, they balance each other out, both supporting the reality of living where I don’t want to. Hope: positive theoretical sustenance. Address: positive practical sustenance. It never helps to continue to deny what’s really happening. Blame doesn’t help either; a lesson I’ve successfully learned. But deny? Too easy; continue on my merry way by staying in the passing lane. How would, it will never end, feel? Horrific, if I also let “feel it” never end. But I don’t have to feel it, to remember it’s there. I can see it as “running in the background”, like a computer process, running independently without user intervention.
Which Supply Closet?
Why do people keep going? They have something to hold onto. (The Return of the King) I pictured myself on a ledge – sheer rock above and below. I could succumb to the gravity of the situation and let gravity send me to the bottom, or I could wait (for what I’m not sure), or reach for the rope and start climbing. There’s all kinds of stuff actively trying to pull me backwards, like past experiences and despair. There’s motivation to push forward, if I can find some in the “short supply” closet. Shear determination can push me forward, but it’s exhausting to keep going dragging whatever pile of crap is trying to stop me. So it’s up to me to finds something to hold onto, like partial success or help from others – tangible proof, enough to increase the odds. I can also hold onto intangible hope, without a speck of proof, but I need to do more than just hold on, just maintain my position. To do that I’ll have to accept the worst that can happen. Even if the answer is, it never ends, forward I must go, because that’s where every little joy is sprinkled throughout every day from joy’s “abundant supply” closet.
The intro to this post on Twitter: Moving forward is a two step process; find something to hold onto and then use it to move through whatever tomorrow holds and to the little everyday wonderful that awaits you.
Energy Sources
“But filled with nothing or everything requires too much energy.” (Nothing, Everything blog, Oct 2020) After re-reading these words, I thought, how so, and that both of these include overwhelming exhaustion. Nothing isn’t as light as it sounds. It’s a heavy burden carrying around nothing. The weight supplied by empty, missing, absent, silence, therefore I must generate energy, to the point of exhaustion, to not let myself see life itself as nothing. Everything can be as great as it sounds, but the desire to reach filled with everything depends on the everything. Every wonderful, yes please. Every responsibility, no thanks. Everything as in no room to breathe, is a heavy burden to carry around, the weight supplied by too much presence, chaos, therefore I must generate energy, to the point of exhaustion, to make myself see life does includes peace. Both arrived, one after the other, after my husband died. Filling up quickly with fear, sadness, and anger; expending energy to live a lie of competent, stable, fearless, and strong. Then drained away as people left, taking chunks with them; expending energy to keep reality out. My life would be filled again, steadily not quickly; chunks of reality arriving in conjunction with life’s overwhelming energy.
Intro to this blog on Twitter: Life isn’t all or nothing. To arrive at a balance, I often spend my own energy. When grief dropped all in my lap, then replaced all with nothing, it was life’s energy that would restore a balanced reality.
A Widow's Walk 