Yesterday, I laughed.
I woke up in the morning and said to myself, “Enough with the mourning. Get up. Get on. You can miss them forever, and it has been ten years so it seems that you will miss them forever, and that is okay. This is okay. Now, get up and go out into the world and try something new – celebrate them while you miss them.”
And so, I did. I was at the gym for three hours, but upon walking in, there were my friends, S and A. They invited me to their home, later, for the opening of the football season D.C. team’s (I can’t type the name because it is racist) first game and I felt as if one of the missing had made the invitation himself. He played football and wanted me to get football, and I just didn’t, wouldn’t, back then. I’ve tried in the past few years and I still don’t get it, really, or like it but – it felt like, “Yes, this is the thing to do.” So I agreed, and then spent hours gymming myself, moving obsessively from cardio to weight to cardio to weight until I could barely move – obsessively or otherwise.
Then, because one of the missing cut hair, and I was celebrating rather than mourning the missing, I thought I’d pursue my Anderson Cooper-wanna-be questing at the new Sporty-You’re-A-Man-Cut place by the gym. Since I was a first-time customer, I was upgraded to the big deal cut, massage, hot towel treatment and it was a lovely, lovely interlude. And I knew the experience was a gift from one of the missing, congratulating me for living rather than mourning.
After that, I went to the wine store next door (I wish I could live in one of the new condos/townhouses by my gym – EVERYTHING is within walking distance – except movies and theatre – but, you know – compromise.) and bought a lovely bottle for my niece, who does so much for me and makes me feel loved.
Then I went home – and thought about moving furniture. It’s my GO-TO thing to do when I need a change internally; I get this OVERWHELMING need to re-arrange the external. I didn’t, however, do so yesterday as I had to watch Rafa kick ass in the U.S.Open until it was time to leave for the “opening of the season football” gathering to which I’d been invited.
I had a lovely time at the quiet, family gathering. During its course, I realized that this friendship had begun around the death of one of the missing that decade ago. And I started to think about how many of my very close friends are people I met or know because of a connection to one of the missing.
The missing, who I still mourn, are still with me, in all of these relationships, in my writing, in my recent efforts to “get back out in the world” – I can often FEEL them behind it; or, rather, there is a synchronicity of the energy of what they would want for me which is coinciding with the efforts I am making to continue living.
I am picking at the scars, pulling them away, finding new skin. Not just the mourning, but all the ways in which that mourning re-shaped my approach to life, to believing, to connecting. The skin where there is scab and scar, it is stronger, tougher, and though it sometimes hurts – sometimes requires an effort to stretch it that I might reach out without pain – I am trying.
I am trying. Ten years is like a single breath, sometimes; and other times, like an eternity of waiting. I wish that I believed in “ever after” or, even, “after” – and could imagine that in some halcyon after-ether-spiritual-completion-heaven-world I would find myself held and loved by one, celebrating and laughing and “finally-ing” about that with another, and, oh, how happy I would be walking through nirvana-Manhattan with the third – seeing all those shows we dreamed of seeing.
Alas, I will have to do HERE, what they would want THERE. For them. And turn this mourning into celebration every day.