It gets different, and sometimes that's better, too

Today, I found myself in the bathroom at the office wiping away tears.  I was trying to pull myself together because I was laughing so hard reading this site at work, that if I didn't excuse myself, I was going to get busted.  I could barely control my laughter; there was some snorting and other strange noises, too, as the laughter exploded out in spite of my best efforts.  As I sat there, repeatedly breaking out in giggles as I remembered some of the posts and wiping my eyes, I thought of how many times during the summer of 2006 I'd been in the bathroom at work wiping away tears, crying my shattered heart out as silently as possible for one who is sobbing uncontrollably.  And I was grateful to be in there today, shaking with laughter as I cracked up again and again.  There was a time where that seemed impossible.

"He was born on a summer's day, 1951."

Because I have a lot of musical "friends" on FB, I received the news today that Andrew Gold had died. I didn't recognize his name, but I did recognize his hits. There are a lot of musicians like that, I think--people you don't realize you know until something puts it together for you. Like a eulogy. It was only today that I found out he'd died at 59, of a sudden heart attack.

Even though I wouldn't have been able to pick Andrew Gold out of a lineup, and didn't know him by name until today, news of his death has hit me hard, because it echoes A's death. A was born on a spring day in 1951; they were born the same year. And A died, also too young, of a sudden heart attack.

My feelings are a jumble: frustration that men of a certain age are so vulnerable to deadly heart attacks; sadness that I seem to be moving into a stage of life where the actuarial tables showing that the mortality rate quadruples once you're in your 40s are illustrated daily among friends, family, and acquaintances; and also envy, that Andrew Gold and his loved ones got an extra 5 years that my sweetie didn't.

It's selfish, I know, to find in someone else's death, some other family's misfortune, an occasion to think about my own loss and my own pain, but I am not immune to triggers; it'd be more surprising if, given the parallels of the cases, if I didn't make those connections.

I learned Friday that the wife of a coworker has most likely received a death sentence, via metastatic cancer that was just found. They're probably in their sixties, but still relatively young, to me. Maybe they will have a miracle happen; but miracles are always a bit thin on the ground.

That's the thing about death. It's easy enough to accept intellectually as something that happens, and something that happens to every living thing. But it's difficult to accept the mighty upheaval it causes in your life and the lives of all who are left behind. Death in the abstract is simple enough; death, concrete and immediate, is complex, and takes years and years to unravel. How many years? I don't know; I'm still unraveling it. Obviously.

Hello darkness, my old friend

I had death on the brain yesterday, considerations I'll not detail lest anyone reading this panic for me, because they didn't really reflect how I was feeling, personally--it was all very detached and theoretical, if graphic. But it was still an unpleasant train of thought, and I tried to shake it off as I drove across town for band practice, even as I was puzzled as to where it was coming from.

It wasn't until later last night that it hit me; it was Memorial Day. The last day I kissed and touched A; the last time I saw him without two computers between us. Consciously, I was thinking about other things, more current things, but my subconscious was busy dancing with the Reaper, dredging up all kinds of creepy scenarios and thoughts. Even when you forget for awhile, or for a minute, you never really forget.

I had a long telepathic talk with A once I went to bed, and talked about the stuff I never talk to anyone about regarding his death and the circumstances of his being found and how much that bothers and baffles me, still. His best friend identified him, having arrived about the same time as his sister and the cops I called. The friend told me he'd been found in his bathroom, and that he looked peaceful. I accepted that at the time, and never asked for more details, because I didn't want them, even if I sometimes wonder about them. Better to not know; better to speculate wildly than to have a clear vision of the truth to torment myself with. I talked about how awful it was that he might've been taking a shower or brushing his teeth or combing his remaining hair and just collapsed, with no warning on a Saturday morning. How awful it was for him to be there, waiting to be found; and how he probably wasn't waiting at all, and maybe I could eventually get my head around that enough for it to be a comfort. He was probably gone quickly, because why would he stick around when his spirit was free? How it was just really awful for me, for all of us who loved him, because we only knew him in his body, and so we'd have to be forgiven for confusing his body for his being, and hurting about it.

I talked about how the Mystery itself causes people to deny there's any mystery at all, and how it would be easier, and really not so painful, to believe that this IS all there is, that when we die, that's it, and there's nothing to hope for beyond that, because that's what I believed for a long time and it didn't bother me at all back then. I had no evidence otherwise, so it made sense. I talked about how it would be easier to disbelieve in a future when he and I would cross paths again, once I died, and that it was worthwhile to keep the one-way line of communication open in the meantime, even if it was sometimes painful, and just walk on and not ever look back. Except that I've had evidence otherwise since A died. But it all happened soon after he died, and after awhile, you're on your own, and doubts creep in. Some people manage that inner conflict through faith. I don't have faith; I have reason and experience...and hope. And sometimes, that's just not enough to keep your spirit bright and moving forward. It's like knowing the sun will come up tomorrow, because it always has. But if it didn't for a few days or weeks or years in a row, no matter how many times you saw it happen before, you'd start to wonder if it ever did.

I don't talk about those things, even in my head to the man they happened to, very often, because they hurt like hell to revisit. But I guess they needed an airing for that very reason. In articulating it, I allowed it, and in allowing it, I was a bit more free, a bit more whole. Over and over again, I've felt that grieving and healing are a process of integrating the experience into who and what I am. If I can't even talk about it to myself, then it will continue to plague me. If I can't talk about it to A, if I can't take advantage of the heightened intimacy of death, where all cards are laid on the table and honesty rises to new levels because you can't possibly hurt each other more than the pain the separation of death causes, then I am an obstacle to my own healing that continues even now. You've got to process this stuff; if you just stuff it down, it'll come back to bite you. Maybe even 5 years later.

This morning a song came up on shuffle on my iPod that I will take as a sign, because I needed to hear what the song had to say, and the people saying it was a sign in and of itself. I need to believe it; I need to hope.

DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WITH LOVE By Carl Perkins


WHILE I'M OVER THERE, YOU'LL BE OVER HERE
BUT WE'RE IN LOVE SO HAVE NO FEAR
'CAUSE DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE, GIRL, WITH LOVE.

WHILE THAT SAME FAT MOON THAT SHINES ON YOU
IT'S THE SAME OLD MOON SHINING ON ME TOO
AND DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE, GIRL, WITH LOVE.

SO LET'S DREAM, DREAM, DREAM,
LIFE IS NOT WHAT IT SEEMS.
YOU'RE THE GIRL I'M DREAMING OF
SO DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WITH LOVE.
(Makes no difference, girl, with love)

FOR LOVE TO ME IS BOTH YOU AND I
IT SURROUNDS THE GLOBE, FLOATING ON THE SKY.
SO DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE, GIRL, WITH LOVE.

FOR I AM YOURS AND YOU ARE MINE
AND THIS WILL BE TILL THE END OF TIME
AND DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE, GIRL, WITH LOVE.

SO LET'S DREAM, DREAM, DREAM,
LIFE IS NOT WHAT IT SEEMS.
YOU'RE THE GIRL I'M DREAMING OF
SO DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WITH LOVE,
DISTANCE MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WITH LOVE,
IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WITH LOVE.