I just recently told a friend (in an impassioned way) that I didn’t want my old life anymore. My old life, is the life I’ve lived since my Buddy died, and that’s a life that has been full of grief and pain.
My previous life doesn’t exist anyway. I return back to my house in LA, and it’s a poor facsimile of what I use to have, but don’t anymore.
It’s funny, in the beginning after I lost Patrick, I was afraid the pain would leave – it was almost like I’d lose him if it went away. And now, I’m desperate for the pain to leave, for something to be different in my life. But like I’ve always suspected, this grief has a life of its own. I don’t control it. I can temper it sometimes, borrow a few moments for myself, call a time-out for a few minutes, hours, and sometimes even days now. But this grief, this hurt, does whatever it wants to do. And it’s doesn’t listen to me.
Landing back in L.A. this time has been a bit different; not as friendly as I was hoping it would be, but there’s been a definite shift forward. A sense of “getting on” with things.
And this is not always easy – I can decide that I’m going to move forward in a positive way in my life, and still…still…it can feel like I’m pushing a ten-ton elephant uphill. And then, the thought comes in my head, just like it did after Patrick died, How do I get through the day, through a task, let alone a life? – Get twice as strong. And then, get stronger than that.
And, yes. Sometimes that thought makes me feel very tired. And sometimes I feel – ready.
I want to feel ready.
It’s strange how much grief takes out of you in just trying to function every day. And for me, I think the reserves that were depleted during Patrick’s illness, and then further smashed into smithereens after he died, are just now starting to be replenished.
I’m thinking that I can find the “key,” how I can be “good” enough to myself that I find the energy to jump forward in life. Like tanking up with gas to go on, instead of eeking out my days on pitiful, never-ending fumes.
And it’s still true that it’d be much easier to sit around, waiting to die, and never doing a damn thing (it’s a viable option). But I still want my life to mean something. And this is a positive sign to me.
I’m starting to see that life can be good again. It’s beckoning. Like a mirage in the distance. And I want to reach for it. And there’s a part of me that hopes I have the energy to move, and grasp what waits for me. I just need the vitality, and the courage, along with my broken heart which promises to be tied back together with the love that is still exists here on earth.
And maybe when this gravity pulls me back, I’ll land in the in the folds of a life that’s good to me, that holds and energizes me. What a thought. That life that can inspire. Replenish. What a thought…