Posts tagged ‘Lil Pharaoh’

When my husband, Jerry, my “soulmale” and love of my life (one of 2… I can’t seem to choose between- and why should I? I have decided that when one dies, I am allowed 2 “Loves of My Life), died in 1998 I grieved.

Of course this loss is so different. Nonetheless the mind continues to seek familiarity. (An effort, perhaps to find some experiential hint on how to proceed).

Well, I could write a book on my grief, my “breakdown” 14 months later, my process and my eventual and ultimate healing, but that’s not the point that is vexing me today. My thoughts keep circling back to what feels like an important part of my current struggle in grieving this loss, the loss of not only my beautiful grandson, Bishop; but the loss of my daughter’s (and perhaps somehow my own??) innocence and heart.

What has occurred to me over and over of late is that there seems to be no place for these losses within my personal identity that fits.

This is so difficult to articulate.

Somehow, over time after my Jerry died, “widow” became not a title or mere description, but a part of my identity.

I was a widow.

It seemed somehow to state clearly who I was and there was some odd comfort and implied strength in that for me. It became part of my identity that I grew to accept and ultimately embrace. I don’t know; perhaps it was all tied up with getting my business off the ground at the time- survival. Perhaps the designation between “widow” and “single woman” was important. I don’t know exactly why it was so; it simply was.

And in some way I think that embracing that as part of who I was at the time, and for the next many ensuing years, was part of my healing process. Somehow it gave me a very clear context within which to place the huge event in my life that was the loss of that beautiful man who meant so much to me. And strange as it may seem, somehow it was a positive thing.

Oh, I’m fumbling and bumbling to express this.

The thing is, there is no context within which to place the loss of my grandbaby and the grief for my daughter. I’m feeling/thinking (one or the other or both- these processes are inextricably enmeshed) that there is simply nothing in these losses to embrace in a positive and affirming way for my identity.

Oh, I’m sure people will mouth (or write) inanities the likes of “you’re so strong, you’ve been through so much, that’s something to embrace”, but that’s not how it feels, and that’s not enough.

Before our Bishop died, I had become pretty disillusioned with the world, politics, human beings in general after all my political activism and blogging and outrage. The stoning of that man and woman somehow seemed to be the final straw for me. It broke my heart and rather than inspire cynicism in me it invoked a sort of despair. I felt defeated. I took a hiatus from blogging to try to find a place in me from which to care, without despairing.

Bear with me.

Our Bishop’s senseless and inexplicable death (SIDS is in no way an explanation) has evoked a hopelessness and despair in me that I can’t seem to kick. It has brought home to me, on a personal level, the chaos and senselessness of a world and existence in which people are stoned to death, murdered for a few dollars, bombed at the whim of one government, starved and gassed at the whim of another, and where babies die for no apparent reason.

An existence in which it had already grown so difficult for me to see “God” (as a very generic term). Perhaps the better term here would simply be “meaning”.

“Existentialist”, “Athiest”- these are not terms that I’m willing to embrace as my identity. “Defeated”, “despairing” are not either.

I can’t seem to find a way to integrate this loss, this experience, these feelings, this grief into my personal identity.

I think that’s a problem.

Chaos reigns and I despair, lost in the void. I need to find my heart, but it seems to be MIA.

*4:03 PM editorial comment:
Writing this and then reading it here in black and white I note that it both falls far short of articulating my feelings and expresses them perfectly. Yet one more paradox of my existence. I should also note that it’s exceedingly difficult to face these feelings this way; outwardly, instead of continuing to be wantonly assaulted with them inwardly (privately). And although this; writing/blogging, is one of several courses of action I’ve decided upon in hope of some movement from this place, it feels pointless. Nonetheless I shall continue.

Last night began the sacred observance of my New Year. The usual celebration within the solemnity of the occasion was missing, but the altar was laid in love and honor. Bishop’s remembrances are centered on the Samhain altar surrounded by the beauty and warmth of our beloved dead; mementos, photos and the ashes of our family, friends and ancestors gone before us to attend him. The altar is circled still by 13 glass pillar candles in white, green, red and blue, burning brightly. The candles, representing warmth and light, passion and spirit, will burn continuously for 7 days, or until they burn out, whichever is longest. There is salt, representative of nourishment and earth, and clear water for thirsty spirits and representative of our love and deeply flowing emotions that shall be replenished daily while the candles burn. Incense smolders sweetly calling the spirits of air and intellect, thought and action.

The Gods intervened in my usual choice of candles. The Virgin of Guadalupe’s blessings were required, as were St. Jude’s. I thought it odd, but have learned through the years that the Gods will have their way with me, whether I resist or acquiesce, so Saint Candles were the order of the evening. Today I took a moment to research the saints who had made their presence manifest and discovered that Guadalupe’s Day is December 12, my daughter’s birthday, and that Jude is the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes, and the special protector of children with catastrophic illness. Those two are welcome on my altar, indeed.

At 12:01, my ritual begun and in place for the night, I sat at my laptop to embark upon my journey of 50,000 words. I began to write and before I’d written a hundred words, at 12:04, the power went out leaving only the bright glow of the altar candles. Among my beloved dead there are at least a few who fashion themselves great jokesters, my late husband among them. I could almost hear Bishop laughing as his Grampa Jerry bounced him whispering, “Look at Grama, scribbling in the dark. Isn’t she funny?” Thank the Gods that their humor was exhausted by 2:30. When the power finally came back on, this ol’ Grama’s eyes were blurry but wide open thanks to the full pot of coffee I’d been slurping all night.

By 7 am I had a mere 1500 words. Finally, at 8, I exceeded my quota of 1667 words for the day and finished up at a whopping 1750. Exhausted beyond belief but as Jittery as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, I decided on a hot bath. Good one, Thornie. I awakened shivering in cold water and completely refreshed after my hour and a half nap.

Woot! Back to work! Muahahahaha. I finished up tonight at 2,733 words, over a thousand above the first day’s necessary average. Some of it is pretty damned dark, which isn’t really surprising considering the place my heart is in and of course, the time of year. I can only hope that this Darkness of and in which I write will indeed be “Pierced by Sudden Shards of Overwhelming Brightness”

A tiny peek for my blog family and faithful readers:

I was born, I lived, I died. That’s the whole story, really. Just like so many others. Just like everyone, anywhere, ever. Quite to the point, don’t you think? I mean, what else is there, really?

What else there is, is everything. Those flashes of light and aeons of darkness that fill the spaces between birth and death, between death and whatever is to be next.

They’re pressing on me now; I can feel their need. The weight of them leaning, pushing. Urging me to tell- to tell their truths, their stories… their lives. To be their rememberer.

I have something to tell, but I think it’s mine.

I’ve been here for awhile., I think. (“I think, therefor I am”? Am I?) This place seems to exist outside of time somehow, so I’m not really sure that “awhile” has any meaning. It makes it difficult. I’m not sure exactly what or where or even when here is.

It’s relatively peaceful, (but relative to what?) although that’s just a sense I have. It might just be me that’s peaceful; my peace, my stillness. It’s not like there’s a lovely view or soothing music playing or anything.

It’s almost a void. No- that’s not right. This place is crowded. It’s like some sort of clearing house for souls/spirits… whatever we are.

A luminous darkness in which I’m only one of many deeper shadows at rest or motion. A space of sorts; a space between.

Is that what I’m doing here? Hiding? Waiting? Will you find me here?

Circles and spirals of thought swirl me through labyrinthine pathways of memory. While I wander there, the energies around me shift and flow. Movement. Coming and going? Some seem to burst into existence and then disappear in the space between thoughts. Where do they go? Are they so sure, these spirits? So knowing? Have they shaped their destinations so thoroughly, so decisively that they move through here to whatever is next for them without pause; without rest?

Am I waiting? Or deciding. There was so much pain and sorrow. Confusion, loss. The brief sparks of joy burned out so quickly. Bright flashes between seemingly endless drudgery and bottomless sorrow.

But oh those moments of light.

Bishop

Perfect living love
watched in wonder; laughed at life
gone too soon- comes winter.
10-31-07