Pleasure Notes

It’s been 10 months, today, since Jamie died and I still feel every facet of the grief like a cloak that, no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to shed.

I was leaving a comment on someone’s blog yesterday and became curious to know more about some of the other commentors with whom I was unfamiliar. Upon clicking on their gravatars, windows opened up to reveal lists of other blogs using the same spam protection service that they frequent. I was curious to know what blogs would make up my list, so I clicked on my own gravatar and immediately was hit square between the eyes by Jamie’s Yellow Suitcase Tumblr blog, at the top of my list. Before I could stop myself, I clicked on the link. I hadn’t visited the site since before we took the trip.

I was assaulted by her – her image, her voice, her laugh, her memories, her predictions. I read how many times she flippantly mentioned dying or having a coronary, as we all do in dramatic fashion, and I could feel the synapses in my brain disconnect one by one. I listened to her recorded memories that are mine as well. I saw things I’d never seen before. The reality of her loss slammed into me with the force of a ballistic missile. I was shaky and near tears for the rest of the day. If I’m honest, I’ll say I am still.

by SwEeTie/flickr

It isn’t like this hasn’t happened before. I’m reminded of her every single goddamn day. I wish I wasn’t. I really don’t like the feelings the memories stir. But I don’t like the alternative either – that I’ll forget.

I’m reminded of her when I look at the table on which one of her favorite photos sat until it was too much for me to see. I’m reminded of her every time I open my TweetDeck and see certain people in my stream. I’m reminded of her every time I wear her boots with which her mom preferred to bequeath me rather than send to a thrift store. I’m reminded of her every time my chest tightens or I twist my ankle or I think about Ireland or traveling or curbs or books or friendship or bacon or…

Thank goddess I’m no longer in an environment in which I also get mistaken for her and called her name. That was a torture I cannot even begin to process, months later.

by photophilde/flickr

Sometimes I hate her. She made me see a brighter world only to abandon it without revealing her trick.

Sometimes I wish I’d never known her. Then I wouldn’t have to feel this debilitating sadness.

Sometimes I think it should have been me instead of her, because she appeared to do and be and live with so much more skill than I feel I possess.

Sometimes I think her death was my fault, because I’m the one who suggested turning that corner and stepping up on that curb over which she tripped.

Sometimes I think I no longer have any right to grieve, that still feeling so much after so many months makes me crazy. I certainly feel crazy when the overwhelming need to sob continues to take my breath away. After all, I wasn’t family. We hadn’t been friends for a lifetime. We’d known each other for two years. TWO YEARS. That’s all. That’s an Associates Degree.

by scarbody/flickr

How can I possibly still be trapped in the web of her?

I can still see her falling. I can still hear how we laughed about it, and how she admonished herself for her clumsiness and how I got irritated with her, but said nothing, for taking pictures of her ankle to post on her blog rather than taking the aspirin I gave her.

I haven’t gotten to the point where I can remember her, or our friendship, or our moments spent together and laugh. Ironic, since so much of our time was spent laughing.

by awfulsara/flickr

I don’t know what it will take to shed this second skin she passed off on me when she passed away. What I do know, however, is that I’m pissed as shit that I’m still wearing it. I’ve done everything I know to do to get it off. I desperately grabbed onto a job as my lifeboat and then almost drowned when it sprang a leak. I turned to sex, to food, to therapy, to writing, to my pillow, to the sun. Yet, the mantle hasn’t budged. Perhaps it will take leaving this city, as her husband did. But if I do that, I’ll be wearing her boots even more.

Someone wise would probably say, it just takes time. Fuck time.

Yesterday, Lindsey from A Design So Vast, highlighted an Isabel Allende quote:

“I didn’t know then that sadness is never entirely gone; it lives on forever just below the skin.”

I look forward, with hope, to the day this sadness sinks below the skin. It will feel like such a relief.

I’ve just spent a week in Boston to help out my newly pregnant, severely nauseous, and head-cold-suffering sister-in-law keep tabs on my adorable, brilliant and exuberant 2-1/2 year old niece while my brother was out of town. It has been one of the most delightful, simple and exhausting weeks of my life.

Having spent my entire adulthood living hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from my family, the days and nights when I am with them hold particular significance. Getting to watch the little girl who slays my heart every single day from morning til night for numerous days in succession is a rare privilege. Slipping into leisurely and spontaneous conversations with my sister-in-law over piles of clean laundry is just as special. Watching the ground-shaking joy that lit up my niece’s face and enveloped all of us when my brother arrived home last night is a memory I will treasure.

My heart expands. My throat tightens. It is love.

I’ve always been fiercely independent, perhaps too much so. Only recently have I realized been struck dumb by the awareness of how very much I miss the unique community that family provides. The tight, protective hug I receive from my brother. The giggle shared with my sister-in-law. The cuddles and stern instructions given to me by my niece. I want these things in my life more than once every year or so.

I miss my family. Terribly. Now I must act on that awareness.

What is your view of family – the one you grew up with rather than the one with whom you share a home? Is your engagement with your family what you wish it to be? How would you change it? And what about it do you value?

by Kristina B/flickr

I’m just dropping in briefly to address a question I’ve been asked only about a hundred times in the past month or so… No, I did not trash my blogroll of fabulous blogs and websites that I wholeheartedly support. I simply moved it from the sidebar to a page of its own. So, if you’re curious, check out my Pleasure Spots – entirely dedicated to active sites I can’t live without. Oh, and yes, I update it fairly frequently because there are so many amazing people with whom to fall in love!

Any other questions?

xo

What was the best laugh you had in 2009? What was the biggest belly laugh of the year?

To be honest, this year wasn’t exactly chock full of belly laughs. But life has a funny way of reminding me that this journey is a full spectrum of experiences. Pain has an equal and opposite counterpart – joy. There is no Yin without the Yang. Laughter never strays too far from tears. And somehow, I’ve been lucky enough to have people in my life who make me laugh.

I belong to a book club. I’ve mentioned it before. The club consists of a phenomenal group of smart, witty, empathetic, conscientious, beautiful women. And every year, in December, we participate in a White Elephant gift exchange. For five years, now, we have tried to one-up each other by bringing the most ridiculous, outrageous, trite, horrific, embarrassing, and plain ole ugly-ass gifts to pawn off on each other.

This year, I laughed more in that one evening than perhaps the sum of moments in the entire rest of the year.

Thank you, ladies. I feel blessed to have girlfriends such as you.

Now, what made you snort with glee in 2009?

Who is the most impactful new person you met in 2009? She came into your life and turned it upside down. He went out of his way to provide incredible customer service. Who is your unsung hero of the year?

I’ve met lots of amazing new people this year, many of them fellow bloggers. But the person who turned my life upside down in 2009 was… ME. Egotistical, right? Perhaps. But also true. And humbling. So, no songs of heroism. Just gasps of “oh shit.”

As you know, 2009 has rocked me off my moorings. And straight to the moon. It’s been a year of grief, anger, insecurity, and fear. The principle side benefit of this (and, yes, I am acknowledging a blessing in the midst of chaos) is coming up against my self. I’ve discovered I don’t really know me very well. How’s that for a mind fuck at 40?

Sign me up as a mid-life crisis cliche, thank you very much.

Turns out, many of my beliefs about myself – what I want, what I like, what I value, what I need – have been catapulted into the ether. I’ve been stripped naked by the realization that the stories I hold to be true about myself, while at least co-authored by me and somewhat engaging, weren’t written with me in mind. They were written for you (and by “you,” I mean global you, not YOU, you).

My head has been a constant boxing ring for most of my life – judgement duking it out with enthusiasm, ambition with contentment, spot-light seeker with shy hermit. I’ve known those players for a while. The grand champion, however, threw left hooks from the shadows. Until now.

This fighter doesn’t have a name, unless you give it mine. It’s sole goal is SAFETY. But like a tiger cub left alone in a cave too long, it fights with its back to the wall and attacks anything that comes near, including the hand reaching out to comfort it or draw it into the light. And it has been working with bad intel.

The definition of safety this fighter has been using is wrong. And I didn’t even know it.

When I was a child, I wanted to be a neurologist. In highschool and college, my goal was to someday become a CEO of a multi-national corporation. Ambitious? Yes. True to my heart? No. I was striving for power, control, acceptance (external, of course). Career. Relationship. Body. I thought, if I have a big enough title, a dynamic enough man, a sexy enough body, enough money, enough wit, enough fill-in-the-blank… I’ll be enough.

Delusional.

And, intellectually, I’ve known for years how crazy that idea is. But I’ve still been hacking my way down that trail, swinging my machete willy-nilly.

There is no grace to living in conflict with your soul.

This year, I met my soul. And she is PISSED OFF. She has yanked me out of the boxing ring, thrown me in the ocean, and is the midst of a rant to end all rants. Something about being ignored and neglected. She’s talking so fast, I can barely keep up. I’m going to be spending 2010 getting to know her better. I have a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

How about you? Who rocked your world this year?