Saturday, November 23, 2013

a sort of marathon

too much for a facebook post.  Will the pain of losing him ever be gone?  I know it won't.  But my heart still asks that.  And the reality is that I believed in marriage, so much...I believed that I would have him by my side forever, that I chose so well in the man I married that I would never have to wonder again if I was lovable, if I was attractive, if I was special...because I could always call to him and it would be there...the day he touched me so well I didn't know if I would see straight again, and we took a video after and he pretended to put his shirt on with his head through the arm hole because the earth had moved...I said, in that video, "the man of my dreams"....and I knew...and we hadn't even made love yet...almost, but not yet. 

And he made me laugh, and made me BELIEVE.  That last one is so damn isn't just a regular loss.  I mean, perhaps it is, but I feel like I have been through a lot.  And I feel like his patience and purity, his stubbornness and love for me lifted lifetimes of disbelief...I feel like even if I knew someone had fantasized about me for decades, their desire wouldn't be enough...all I have right now is dreams, memories, fantasies...those are very, for lack of a better word, nice...he was nice.  But that was the least of him.  He was powerful, fulfilling, annoying, frustrating, self centered, sexy, and so much more real than anything I ever thought I could have...

It has been six months.  The pain keeps taking my breath away, keeps bending my knees.  As the evening progressed last night, I undressed and stepped into the hot water of the shower and the tears started in a trickle...which did not last.  I was overtaken, a torrential downpour of pain cascaded through every pore and I couldn't even stand.  So I sat, a folded sobbing mass of pain, on the floor of my shower.  And then, this morning, walking the dogs...normally tears stay away when cold air is rushing into my face, but they came today, cool snake lines down my hot cheeks as I noticed the third quarter moon hazy in the bright blue sky.  To my knees, again...and my dog stopped and looked into my eyes.  I tried to start walking again, but he just looked at me and wouldn't get up.  So I stayed down and cried onto his soft dark fur, stroking him.  He stayed close by my side for the last leg of the walk. 

Why does it seem to get harder?  It's like a marathon of grief.  I imagine, if I were running an actual marathon, there would be moments where I would forget the pain of my muscles and breath and just enjoy the motion...and others when the pavement pounding beneath me would be like sledgehammers swinging at me...or something like that.  A marathon of finding a way to be weak in the right ways and ask for help, strong in the right ways and figure it out when no one answers my calls, of finding the balance between embracing the grief so that I don't lock it up and have to deal with worse later, and of breathing deep and moving on so that I do not dwell when there is no fix to anything.

heavy.  it is just so heavy to carry.  and friends and people walk beside me, hold my hand, offer water, make me laugh, offer encouragement, wipe away my tears...but no one else can offer to carry it for me.  no matter how heavy it is.  no one.