sorrow

“grief is a house
where the chairs
have forgotten how to hold us
the mirrors how to reflect us
the walls how to contain us

grief is a house that disappears
each time someone knocks at the door
or rings the bell
a house that blows into the air
at the slightest gust
that buries itself deep in the ground
while everyone is sleeping

grief is a house where no on can protect you
where the younger sister
will grow older than the older one
where the doors
no longer let you in
or out” 
― Jandy Nelson, The Sky Is Everywhere


That last stanza hit me right in the gut.  I outlived my oldest sister.  She was 9 yrs older than me.  We were always best friends. She died in 2001 of cancer, a month before 9/11.  She was 45.  I am 47.

I have been in a place of deep sadness for 4 days now.  It has been difficult.  It's as though I have been untethered and thrown into a storm at sea.  The waves crashing around me. I can't see.  I have no balance, the waves rock the ground. There is no balance. There is no safe place to stand.  Sit. Scream.  There is nothing I can do but ride it out, no matter how sea sick I become.  The storm is beyond my control.

I have some idea of what this is about...grief, rage, fear.  The uncertainty of my illness, the physical pains, the friendships that are over, the children growing up, where do I look? What do I do? What's this all about?

I was reading about buddhism and suicide earlier today, just wondering what their take on it is, and they quoted a study that showed when people feel unconnected, when they feel cut off and alone, that can often cause intense suffering.  I am NOT suicidal, (truly) but I was wondering where that feeling of wanting to be done with life, was all about.

I am always seeking knowledge, always trying to figure things out.  It's my nature.

I do feel like a misfit.  I find myself very often not understanding other people, what they do, how they behave, what they say.  My life has been one of exploration, LOTS of it.  Therapy, reading, writing, I am driven to find all that is not me, and let it go.  I have had a long journey, there was a lot of work to do, a lot.  I've been willing.  I've shown up.  I've done (and continue) things that scare me.  I listen. I speak. I apologize. I stand firm.  I remain open.

I know I am not an average person (Are any of us? I don't know).  In the Meyers/Briggs test, I am an INFJ which is not common.  My ways of interacting with the world, how I take in information, etc.  I am on the edge.  I am hyper sensitive, picking up people's emotions far too easily.  I am extremely empathetic, so I have to be very careful. (I don't watch news, etc.)  I have a tough time filtering out other people's pain and frustrations.  On the good side, I also feel people's hope and love, so it's not a complete drag.

I don't know what triggered this, well, yes I do.  I finally saw why I needed to end a friendship and I finally saw that the mother I was, is now longer needed for my children.  This double loss has brought up past grief too: my sisters and my dear friend Marjorie who died 6 months ago.

I am tired of loss.  I am tired of people dying.  I am tired of walking away from unhealthy relationships.
I am tired of finding out there is something else to do.  Another fear door to walk through.

I made a list of all the friendships I have ended in the past 10 years. 19...yup, 19.  The sad/good news?  I have no regrets about any of them.  So I know that this is the right thing to do.  Some people have friends since 4th grade.  I meet people for a time and then it's over.  It seems to be beneficial to both and then I find it a 'wasteland" to use Joseph Campbell's terminology.

Doing the right thing is not the easiest thing.  I wonder why I couldn't be different?  Why do I have to be different?  Why do I have to think so much?  Why do I have such high standards?  Why do I assume every one wants to get better?  Why do I assume people want to know the truth?  Why don't I shut up and pretend?  Why do I want honesty, at all costs?

Oh how I wish there was a flying lion who could pick me up and deliver me to the land of misfit toys so I could meet other people like me.  I could help them by not judging their square train wheels and they could accept me for being me...for asking questions and opening my heart, talking about things.

But there is no flying lion king to save me. I am me and people are people.
But it's cold, oh so cold sometimes.