Every day I write things that no one reads. I tape scrap paper, photos, restaurant napkins, even a folded paper plate into my diary. I am unrelentingly honest…
I stopped writing here, I stopped recording my love affair. I stopped sharing my dreams and passions. I became immersed in the pain. the pain of losing Kiks, the pain of losing friends, the pain of growing older and finally the pain of having lost our child. I became convinced that all that was left for me was loss. That seemed to be the way of it. From a yo-yo relationship with my treasured beloved son as he hit the dreaded 16 dramatics. To friend breakups that I never saw coming. Financial stones in the form of hospital bills so heavy to carry that Sully and I kept tripping n slipping. I kept repeating the same stories, living the same nightmare. It was the movie Groundhog Day everyday. The darkness never let up, the rain never ceased. The mountain never stopped calling me. The cliff became a symbol of relief. I could just step off and silently fall into dust.
I thought being strong by shedding my tears in closets n showers was what was expected. How long can u exhibit your grief, without being thought a martyr? With each success Sully has achieved in the new chapter of his career, I felt left behind. No matter it seemed, how often we talked at length, we seem to be incapable of saying the unsaid. It built. The lava swirling. Yet we ignored it as the passion seemed to grow instead of wane. Intense eruptions of fierce fucking. Raw primordial couplings. Incessant want of the others flesh. Pain at times, rarely tender under after the act. But a need as fierce as a heroin kite.
We had minor arguments that quickly sorted. He tried so hard to make me smile. But my inner child cried even as my outer shell laughed. Pregnancy wrecked my body n took a heavy toll on sanity. As he became stronger n chiseled into a cheesecake muscle photo, I became softer n deflated. My Mother’s fragile health and her rage to be where she is after a lifetime of intensely hard work became a thorn that ripped me open again and again. Everything and everyone in my life gave me the feeling I was failing at every role. That’s what the lies of grief told me.
The end almost almost happened over a fight over paper plates. From a few simple snipes came a torrent from each of our mouths that scorched the earth bare. No other storm has ever matched this wreck of winds n hate. I think of our love as a tree. It shelters, it comforts. It’s beautiful and majestic for us because we know each other so well. We r the familiar limbs n aged bark of friends turn lovers that have grown together into one standing apple tree. But sadly we did, could not Bear or nurture the fruit of our limbs and so how then could we remain together in this orchard. That fight was the lightening that split the tree in half. The grief howled In the gust and I laid down on the ground n gave up.
It was in the very very late of night that a saw started. With near reverence Sully sliced each twig, each joint, stacking every log next to each other. He sobbed. His body shook in great shudders of pain n effort. He grieved his sister, our friends n team that have past, he grieved every blow my body took before he brought me into his shade, every scar I hid from him, every story I never told him. He said ours son’s name with such longing as he carved his name next to ours in a heart on that tree trunk….It was a bright sunny dawn that saw the last of his tears n work. On the thickest log he sat n held my hand. All of his words spent. I opened my mouth and started.
I told him why I first came to live amoung the evergreens, for another man I’ll never have. I told him how my heart stands a little bit aloof so I can survive. I let the disfigured dragon of my soul out and told him about all the nights and days in England. I laid the wreckage of my brain in front of him like LEGO bricks. I drank the blame everyday, it’s poison spreading until self hatered was all I had. As he wiped my never ending tears, I pressed his hand into my bloated n scarred face n asked what he saw. He said I see you Bootsie. I see your gypsy feet and your wide open heart. I see broken roots n a lifetime of explaining yourself hoping to be understood.
I have had a million life experiences. I have love stories, n lusty tales. I’ve had births n deaths. I’ve had women and men in my bed. I fought for my life and so willingly tried to give it away. I’ve seen so much, every color n make of mankind. I’ve heard songs that traveled from the bayou to the barroom. I’ve written my story and so many others. I keep trying to find my thousand acres n getting lost in the city.
I have lost my true north, was eclipsed by a comet, and closed chapters that it nearly killed me to finish. I wear the ashes of my children like war paint. I question my direction as I stare at the map upside down. I spin in circles, a glowing rainbow spintop, beautiful in my chaos but unable to walk out of the sharp vertigo.
So, I plant new roots with his hands, in rich soil. I kiss him as if he can save my soul. I hum a tune, I hold the children that are not of me but will grow thru me. I write down all the words to my son, that he isn’t ready to hear. I drive to mountains and take pictures of trees, collect pieces of bark and imagine hearts drawn in them. I wait. I have to just wait. I have to just take a breath, look at the world and wait.