Life within a Life

Here is a recent journal entry about my experience with this ongoing grief process. I've heard grief described as a parallel life. This is my take on it.

journal: They don’t want to hear it. They don’t really want to know what I’m going thru. If they really knew they would not know what to do, and they would feel more helpless than they already feel, more inadequate, more tongue-tied. But not knowing what to say is okay. Really. If only they would just acknowledge the fire, that it’s burning, that it’s hot, that they can see me in the middle of it, barely protected, almost consumed. I can only imagine that this is something like childbirth, or what I think it would be like—a pain that cannot be endured except for the fact that not to feel it would ensure death.

Would I die if I didn’t feel this pain? No, but to die, sometimes it seems better, not because of a reunion, or an eternity, or an incarnation, but because it would stop. It. The pain, the emptiness, would stop. It is a constant ache that attacks so many sides I cannot defend myself.
Where are my friends? They call and ask me how I am doing, sometimes. They talk about their lives, their problems, and don’t even mention him, as if I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I want to be a good friend, so I listen, but they are watching my life from at least the same distance that I am watching theirs, a distance that protects them from the fire almost consuming me. A distance that allows them to keep living their own lives, like they are supposed to do. At the end of the day, I respect whatever they need to do to keep on living, even if it doesn’t include me.

Where are his friends? They are working, parenting, and riding their bikes, challenging themselves to be better, faster, stronger for their next race or event. They are living, and maybe even grieving still, in their own way. At the end of the day, I respect whatever they need to do to keep on living, even if it doesn’t include me.

But for me, at the end of the day, even after an exhilarating bike ride or time with friends, often I find myself on the couch with a plate of fattening foods and a glass of wine to cushion my thoughts, my memories, as they fall randomly through my fingers like grains of sand. Struggling to catch every grain, every memory, every thought, every anger, every love, every touch, every everything, tears fall impatiently, angrily, sadly, yearningly. I don’t know if I cry because of what I do catch or because of what falls between my fingers. There is so much to catch. There is so much that falls. I guess I should be thankful that there is so much to catch, and that I even notice that which falls. But there is no one to see it or appreciate it. No one but me. It’s in this moment of what is caught and not caught, this moment when the sand rests on my fingers or falls below, that only I appreciate the value our life together. It is a moment crowded with aloneness.

Is this a gift? Is it a curse?

This life within a life that only I can live, is it something I should beg others to share, or just relinquish my hope of others joining me and understand that this grief is mine alone? No one else can bare it. No one else can own it. No one else can understand it, or experience it like I experience it.

I don’t want this specialness, where only I can understand my pain, my emptiness. I don’t want this aloneness where it feels like only I can be my friend. I am too weak for that, but even in this weakness my strength seems to be enough to get me out of bed each day, enough to smile, to do at least a little exercise, paperwork, yardwork, or housework, and to look okay. I look okay and say that I’m okay to everyone who asks. Sometimes I say that it’s hard, but I’m okay. They look relieved, as if I just said that everything is back to normal.

So, at what point do I admit to drowning in this sorrow? To drowning in grief? To drowning in memories? Would anyone even hear my confession? I don’t admit these thoughts to others because they might think I’m weak, pitiful. Logically, I know that it only feels like I am drowning. It only feels like grief will kill me. I am well acquainted with depression and its oceans of desert, and I have learned that the cycles of feeling nothing and then everything at once does not have to overcome me or control me, even when it feels like it. So, if I cling to what I know, I must believe that this grief will not suffocate me, even when the weight of his body in memories rests upon my chest.

In spite of this drowning feeling, at the end of the day, I want to gasp for air and find air. I want to breathe and find another breath, no matter how painful it might be, because breath is life and life is purpose. Life, alone, must be enough reason for me to live, whether I’m walking through depression or through grief, or both. I want there to be a special reason why I am still here, even if I never understand why he is not. Just finding air every few seconds is my opportunity to find reason in spite of the loss, in spite of the pain. Even if I never understand why he died, and I probably won’t, I know many reasons why he lived, one of them being his gift of love to me.

This life within a life….it is different. It is ugly and very confusing right now, but I must consider the possibility, just the possibility, that all life has value, even the life of grief. I must protect it, nurture it, and seek to understand its wisdom.

This life within a life is my life, and everything is growing around it exponentially in comparison, yet this grief, this life within a life, is growing, too, a growth only I can see. A life only I can experience at my own pace. And at the end of the day, when my living room is crowded with my grief and me, how blessed am I to have the privilege of drowning in an ocean of beautiful memories—memories that are mine, alone, as long as I live.

Sorry

Have you ever become weary of someone who keeps doing something they've promised not to do, and then they say that they are sorry every time? It puts us in an awkward place because most of us want to be forgiving, but sometimes the routine can be tiresome and the sorry becomes meaningless. The poem below is a result of a number of people who seem to have a lot of drama in their life right now. A theme seems to be one person's inability to stay with the program and repeatedly saying sorry, thinking that it makes up for everything. So after listening to the drama from the other friend for the last two days, I wrote this piece, probably still in progress as the drama continues...sorry Bryan, a little on the serious side, so sorry, really, I'm sorry.

Sorry Among Sorries

Your sorries lay scattered like gravel among gravel
Where kindness blends with harshness
Where “I’m sorry,” means little to nothing anymore.

Your sorries form a heap at the bottom of a landslide
Boulders among boulders
Falling randomly regardless of appearance or weight.

Your sorries are an avalanche hiding and sliding
Past contours and views
A trail of snow among snow
A blank slate upon which to write more sorries--
But this time I’m gone.

I’m seeking a place where respect overshadows regret
Where ambiguity is given the benefit of the doubt
Where open minds do not close doors to change
A place where sorries can be held in one hand
A place where sorries are unique
Not an action following routine reactions
That assume forgiveness.

I’m seeking a place where sorries are so few
And so perfectly set that they become
Precious stones.
For now, your sorries continue to lay scattered
Like gravel among gravel
Boulders among boulders
Snow among snow.

Consequently, you wander alone
Inside a fortress of sorries
A fortress filled with sand
Where you sift with a closed hand
Your reasons among reasons among reasons
To say, “I’m sorry.”

What We Do When Nobody is Watching

Now that I live alone and there's no one to question my daily decisions, I wonder if the same rules apply as before. For example, the other day I wondered if it would really be that big of a deal not to shower after an evening workout. What would be the point when I would be going to bed in a few hours just to workout again right after I get up the next morning? Granted I might get up late and then get bogged down with work around the house and then it’s lunch time, so I can’t exercise before I eat because I’m too hungry, which means I delay exercise at least an hour after I eat in order to digest my food. But I get busy again after lunch, then realize that I really should go to the bank and the vet before it gets too late. By the time I get home it’s almost 4pm. Time to workout because if I don’t do it now, it’ll be time for dinner, and then I’ll have to wait another hour before I workout. God forbid I get busy again and then realize that it’s 8pm and time for my favorite show. Before I know it, it’s 10pm and I haven't worked out, or showered. So why shower when I’m just going to workout first thing in the morning? Not that I’ve ever done this, but if I did who would know?

How about eating? I am very health conscious but every once-in-awhile, okay, maybe a little more often, I take a walk on the wild side and eat a donut or drink a chocolate shake. Actually, every Thursday is brownie day, which is a story all its own, but suffice to say, I look forward to it all week. My favorite brownies are at a special bakery that I pass every Thursday. They are huge, very moist, and are covered with thick, chocolate icing. In short, they are crack, and I am addicted. Sometimes I buy two with the intention of having one today and one tomorrow. That rarely works. So the other day, instead of buying one to keep myself from eating two, I bought three, knowing full well that I would eat two that evening, saving the third one for Friday. Can you imagine how sick you would feel if you ate all three in one night? Not that I did this, but if I did, who would know?

How about kitchen utensils? For instance, I took cookies off the cookie sheet, but they stuck to the sheet, so a little bit of cookie and chocolate stuck stubbornly to the spatula. I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be easier just to lick the cookie and chocolate off the spatula and put it back in the drawer than to scrub it clean with soap and water when I’m the only one who is going to use it next? Not that I did this, but if I did, who would know?

What’s your story?

Happy Valentine's Day

I debated on whether or not to acknowledge this Hallmark holiday this year, then realized I really didn’t have a choice. Mom called to say, “I don’t know whether to say Happy Valentine’s Day or just I love you?” Was it a statement or a question? I really had no idea what to say, but put a stop to her sending me roses. A friend called and said, “You’re going to receive a practical Valentine’s Day gift on Thursday. Just wanted to warn you. Please don’t be mad at me.” I really had no idea what to say. What could I say but, “Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to it.” Another friend called and said, “I guess you’d just rather forget about Valentine’s Day.” Again, statement or question? Too late for me to forget about it now that he’s reminded me. I really had no idea what to say other than, “Thanks for thinking of me.” A neighbor said to me as I returned from a walk, “Stay here. I’ll be right back. I have something for you.” This is my 50-yr old-Vietnam vet neighbor with bleached blonde hair and John Lennon sunglasses-who has a few substance abuse issues-living with mom (not sure which came first)-looks kind of scary sometimes, but is really very, very sweet. In all sincerity he said, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” as he gave me a big hug and something that looked like the cousin to the lava lamp—distant cousin. It is a quartzite the size of a nerf football, hollowed out with a bulb inside that rests on a synthetic wooden base. “It only uses four watts so you can leave it on all the time,” he says with a bright smile, “especially when you go out of town.” Well there you go. I really had no idea what to say at first, other than “thank you,” but now, instead of setting the light timer, I have a light that I can leave on 24hrs a day without running up my electric bill when I'm gone. Truth be told, I was very touched by his thoughtfulness, and I’m sure it will look pretty cool all lit up at night. It’s kind of a nightlight on steroids. A 4-watt bulb lamp is much safer than forgetting to blow out candles anyway, and I have a few candles to light, especially today, not that it’s a special day or anything. It’s just another day. It’s just another day to say, “I love you.” It’s just another day to feel loved. I feel loved and it isn’t even afternoon yet.

Before The Bridge and other thoughts

Once upon a time......



Kenu, Rhodesian Ridgeback, 13 years old, died Tuesday, 2/6/07, 3 months to the day after Bill passed away. Yana also died on the 6th a year and a half ago.

It became evident that I needed to make a decision about euthanizing him last weekend. It became imperative that I do so on Monday, but I lost my nerve. So, Tuesday was the day. It was the most difficult decision I have ever had to make because he looked fine. Unfortunately, his tumor was a timebomb, and I didn't want him to die painfully, or without me. In October, when he first showed signs that his end was near, I wrote the following poem. Ironically, it helped me to make my decision this week. The others are also related to him. If you don't mind Hallmark-esq poems, read on.



Before the Bridge
by A. D. Ripke

*A poem that describes a place where we will be reunited with our cherished companions. See www.RainbowBridge.com/poem

Yesterday all seemed fine
Or mostly, anyway,
Gray muzzle and silent ears
Excused his lazy days.

Today he’s sleeping in the sun
And walking slowly up the hill
His graceful gait is stuttered
His tail almost still.

Birds no longer taunt him
Squirrels withhold their chatter
Cats just sit and wait
The hunt no longer matters.

I seek his tired eyes for wisdom
A prophecy that cannot lie,
I find a quiet answer,
“I’m getting ready for good-bye.”

I wonder—
How will I know for certain when it’s time?
Do I wait and let it happen naturally?
Do I help him bow out gracefully?
When am I loving selfishly?

Questions find their rest
In the arms of my resistance
Answers seek their rightful place
Where emotions keep their distance.

Memories rope around each thought
Tying knots of indecision
There are no absolutes
No crystal ball or mystic vision.

How will I know when living is unkind? tears welling as I ask.
Then, from across the Rainbow Bridge*, a gentle voice unveils my task—

“Watch him live—
If his greatest joy is slumber
No response to your commands
His mind does not remember
His legs no longer stand
When his dancing eyes are resting
When he chooses shade instead of sun
When walks are just him dreaming
Your wondering is done.”

I ponder this simple explanation
Advice I could’ve given
But too much love, immeasurable love,
Is blind to answers never hidden.

So Reason’s awkward comfort
An argument still pending
Prepares me for good-bye
Unlike another’s tragic ending.

And in that final moment
As wisdom fights my will
I’ll know he’s found
His peace,
His place,
His friends,
When paws and tail are still.

*A poem that describes a place where we will be reunited with our cherished companions. See www.RainbowBridge.com/poem

Last Day

My day began with a slow, deep breath—
The last day,
His last day,
Our last day.

Last together
Last hug
Last kiss
Last smell
Last touch
Last look……

Last breath.

His last breath.
Our last moment.

I breathe.

I touch.
I breathe.

I touch him again.
I breathe.

Torrent of tears…
Torrent of tears…
Torrent of tears…
Breathe.

Peace at last…
Breathe.

Home at last…
Breathe.

Memories last…
Breathe.

Last touch...
More tears…
Breathe--just breathe.

After Life

Tears fall…
The moment after
The feeling after
The night after
The day after
The week after
The month after
The walk after
The couch after
The entryway after
The park after
The mountains after
The ocean after
The desert after
The summer after
The year after.

After tears
I live.

After more tears
I live.

Grieve.
Live.

Grieve.
Live.

After life
Memories live…

Remember…
Live.

After life
Live.

Lesson Not Learned

Read "It's Been A While" first.......


Packed the car. Left for Chico. A few miles down the road I realize that I forgot the dog food and dog meds. Turn around. Due to traffic, it is a 35-minute detour.

Get to Chico at 11:30pm. Unpacking car. No cycling shoes!

I remember having them in my hand with my helmet and deciding to grab an extra tube. Have the tube. Have the helmet, the clothes, the bike. No shoes.

I need to find the checklist!

It's Been A While

It’s been a while since I’ve posted here. It’s been a while for a lot of things, including preparing my bike for a weekend away. I took an opportunity to visit my friend Diane in Central California over the long weekend. I packed my clothes and other essentials (which takes much longer than you would think!), dog food, dog meds, dog beds, dog toys, mp3 player, CDs just in case the mp3 player doesn’t work, washed the car, filled up the tank, packed up my computer since my friend would be working one of the days, and assembled essential foods just in case she doesn’t have food when I need it. I have this fear of being without food, you see. So I always have a stash of ClifBars, but when the desire for chocolate hits at 8pm and there is none in sight…..well, it’s just better to be prepared. Last of all, I needed to assemble my bike gear and get my bike ready. As most of you know, it’s been a bit cold, okay very cold, especially for riding a bike. Usually I don’t ride if it’s under 45 degrees. So I packed pretty much every piece of bike apparel that I own, just in case, kind of like the chocolate. It’s always better to be prepared. Then I checked my bike—inflated tires, cleaned and lubed the chain, and then….I didn’t know what else to do. Bill did that stuff. He might tighten a cable or check something I don’t know the name of, and then he put the bikes on the roof. He always had a checklist for his clothes, and he always ran down the list with me verbally. There is nothing like unpacking your bike and realizing you don’t have shoes or a helmet. I stared at the bike for a minute and decided that it would have to be good enough, and then loaded it into the middle seat, both wheels off. No bike rack yet. I was already dreading the moment when I had to put the rear wheel back on. Bill always made it look so easy. It usually takes me about 5-7 minutes to change a flat, and then who knows how long I struggle with the rear wheel. Everything takes longer when you do it by yourself. Sometimes when Bill and I prepared for a trip I felt like I was doing the bulk of the preparation, and sometimes it frustrated me, but now I realize that we were really a team.

On the first ride with Diane it was about 38 degrees. It felt like we should be skiing, not riding a bike. I thought my face was going to be frozen permanently and that my toes might fall off from frostbite, but we managed to thaw out. The ride was beautiful and definitely worth the time it took to get ready and begin riding. One of the things I don’t like about cycling is the time it takes to get ready. For the second ride, we took about 30-40 minutes to get dressed and load the car with the bikes on the roof, plus we stopped at Starbucks. The staging area was about 40 minutes away, so by the time we’re getting the bikes off the roof it’s been almost an hour and a half. I get out of the car and brrrr. Why am I doing this? Just as Diane takes her bike off the roof she says, “Can you get the wheels out of the trunk?” It takes a minute to register in my mind because I’m looking at the trunk and there are no wheels. Suddenly I realize that we didn’t make a list and we didn’t check it twice. She thought the wheels were in the car from the day before. I thought she had put the wheels in the car, or I just forgot about them completely. I’m not sure which. Regardless, it is my fault since I took the wheels out of the car the night before. I didn’t think they would be safe. And then we had that moment--the moment when you decide whether to be mad or to laugh. We laughed. And we’re still laughing. It's been a while since I laughed that hard, and a while since I forgot something so significant for a ride.

At this point, it is too late in the day to go home and ride, so we go to the bike shop instead. When the guy at the counter says, “Looks like you’ve been out riding,” Diane replies without missing a beat, “Yeah.” After all, he didn’t say “today” and we had ridden the day before. Next time we’ll have a list and we’ll check it twice. As a team, I don't think we'll be forgetting any gear, especially the wheels, at least not for a while.