The first ten years

I realized tonight that for the past ten years I have ignored the part of myself that is grieving. I have put it away and only brought it up in facts and jokes. I have placed it so far down inside of me that it rises to the surface as anger and anxiety and judgement and fighting and exasperation and lack of faith, ambition, drive, desire...fear fear fear and...um...fear. This upcoming week marks the ten year anniversary of my father's death and I have never once spent a day not thinking about them (my mom passed away in 2003), remembering them, talking to them, apologizing to them, questioning them, worrying about them. Not who and what they are now, but what they were...and will I be? Breathing in...Van Morrison sings Into the Mystic on my itunes...48 hours until The Dead...and this brings me back...this is why this one is so hard...I remember being a young adult, in college, full of hope and dreams and really bullshit relationships and recreational drugs and ridiculous friends that I will always love...and it all comes rushing back. The idea that we are free and it will all work out...That none of this matters...

I looked over Jordan and what did I see? Comin' for to carry me home...A band of angels comin after me...comin for to carry me home...

I am preparing for this show differently than I did back then. There is no arrangement to hope and pray for a ticket, hope and pray for a tab, hope and pray that we are swept away...far far away...

Why did we want to escape so badly? What really was the problem? Really? I mean here we are...and it all worked out didn't it? I think it's the illusions that we should be mad at, not the disappointments...we were raised to be hidden from financial woes and responsbilities. My parents never wanted us to know that we didn't have any money to do the things that made us happy. It was in reason of course. We weren't allowed to do a LOT of things and we especially weren't allowed to wear designer labels...which pretty much meant MALL brands...not the REAL designer stuff...we didn't even know about that stuff...We knew not to have an ATM card...and credit cards were an absolute no-no...Dad would literally go broke providing for us...I wasn't allowed to get a job because I was supposed to concentrate on my studies...which I did. I felt so incredibly grateful to be at that school....I made sure that the promise my guidance counselor made to WMU was kept. I was scared to death of losing. And that's what kept me going. Keeping my father proud...That and my insane tolerance of drugs and alcohol that kept me both non-addicted and able to get what I needed done.

Loss of a parent. Loss of my father. Loss of my mother. This is a loss that gets greater with age, more intense with the passing of time, darker as the night wears on, masked and distorted and faded and stretched when the sun is up...I grew up with nothing but love and admiration for my father. No matter how he destroyed himself and scared and pushed us away, I always rebounded like a puppy who had just peed on the carpet. I know I was bad, but I love you! I know I was wrong, but let me show you I am lovable. Look. Look how lovable I am! Doesn't that want to make you stop escaping? Doesn't that make you want to be here? Let's talk, let's walk. Why can't I come to the store with you? Because you were drunk. I didn't know. Have you been sitting in the car this whole time? I didn't know. You were dying. I didn't know.

I didn't know. Any better.

And now, some days are spent in silent prayer for time to speed up. For this to be over. This. This moment. This meal. This conversation. This day. This week. This year. This decision. This pursuit. Not life. Not the end of life. The end of whatever is there putting a frame around it. Hanging it up. Putting it in the closet. End this moment and let's get on to the next one...Ok. still here. still in pain. still happening. still sucks. still remember. ok. next one. let's go. what's next? what else? tell me what else there is. cuz this isn't enough.

he was enough. you were enough i said. and you didn't know it....and now i don't either. i don't even know what that means. i blame your father. what did he know about empowering his children to believe that they were capable of anything? that they were amazing people and had done a good job? he didn't know...

i would have liked to have been there the moment my parents met. the moment. right now, that moment i would want to linger forever...that's backwards right? that i want the past moments to come back and linger and the present moments to get in the past and the future moments to be cure-alls for all that's left? ewww......

what is left? what is there? there's so much beauty but there's sometimes even more fear. and fear sucks and it stinks...it keeps me from understanding things. it keeps me from...what is the button? that thing that makes me pull back? i dont know anymore...but i think it's: what if i finally get going and i get blind-sided again? what if i am speeding down the hill, going just a little too fast, and i get clocked in the head and everything cracks and burns and scares me and i have to pick myself back up again and put on a face of bravery and calm? what then? and it doesn't just happen in snowboarding...

well...what happened then was that i got up. i just got up. and i was fine. and i did it all over again. a little more careful...but i did it. and the process of letting go started all over again. the inability to really let go because I'LL FALL AND IT WILL HURT AND NO ONE ELSE WILL BE THERE TO HOLD ME.

and if that's the worst it can get...well...i get it. i know.

i know.