Dear K, Part 3 of Many

Dear K, 

Outside, I hear the rain. I used to love the way it washed the world, and how all the colors bled together in light bursts until everything was beautiful. But now it feels like a giant version of sadness, like all the world is crying for you. And I'm crying for you, tonight. My heart holds heaviness, a leaking bag of sand limping across the landscape of relics of us; all these ways I miss you:

I miss the way you turned your eyes on me with a hint of a smile, the way your lips curled up just before you'd do or say something to make me laugh. The way you'd do anything to get me to laugh when I was down. I'm missing how if you were here now, first you would hold me. You'd let it be one of those long, lingering hugs, tight and safe. I'd bury my face in your neck and breath you, feel the softness of your skin again my face. And then you'd rub my sides a bit, and look directly into my eyes, searching to see if whatever was wrong had been set right. 

And that was the most magnificent thing about you, to be so in tune that my body language was louder than my words and I seldom had to tell you when something was wrong. Where are you tonight, when things are so very wrong? Where have you gone, Lovey, now that I feel so empty and alone? There is guilt in this heavy heart of mine, wanting to heal but feeling badly for wanting it so. My mind wants my heart to fall out of love with you so we can find happiness, but my heart is yours and yours alone. And everyone says words that mean so little like time and heartache and grief and these things that mean an everything that feels like nothing at all. I'm sick of the blandness of life. I'm sick of the way things look the color of honey: blurry with the kind of slow stickiness that blends together entire days in a mire of forgetfulness.

I am bad at life now, Lovey. My drive is less than half what it was when I was pushing towards the best life with you. My desire is only to get by, only to do something just past the basics to keep from suffering too much. They say these things will pass, that there is no time table for any of this and I hear it and that is fine. But this is just a long stream of conscious when all I want is the comfort of your arms. My head is pounding, threatening a monumental migraine. My skin has gone to shit, lost weight, gained it, lost it, gained it. All of this is shit. Just a big steaming pile. 

How could this have been what was for us, Lovey? How could it? I hope this life passes easy and quick so that in the next blink of an eye I can ask you these questions and you can answer and we can try again. Oh, to be able to try again. I have to believe that is possible. I have to. 

With difficulty and love, 

Leppy

The Many Faces of Guilt

There are so many things I want to write about. All these things that have been swirling around inside me for the past few weeks with no where to go. I realize I think all the time...not that I didn't before, but there is never that moment in time where things get silent. It's always some kind of chatter.

In the midst of all that noise, I've been thinking about guilt. The kind of guilt that keeps you stuck and the kind of guilt that keeps you going. I've been thinking about how guilt is the gate keeper. There's the stage of Grief that is bargaining, the what ifs, if only I hads, why didn't I justs. I've kept those pretty quiet. It'd be easy to say "why didn't I make him stay" or "why didn't I make him promise to wear his seat belt." All that bargaining just rips us wide open and lays us bare. And it makes us feel like we have control...but here's the thing: we don't.

Surprised? well, I'd imagine you're either Free Will or by God's grace, and neither philosophy has room for a third party and our concerns about whats ifs and if onlys. Did I mention I'm pretty tough love? Well, I am. More for myself, but hey, if it helps someone else, by all means. The idea that we have control is the basis for the kind of guilt that keeps us stuck, the kind where we believe we could have done something to stop our loved ones from dying. But in my reality, K could have gotten in that car any night and had that accident any night. The conditions were clear, and without knowing why it happened (only issues with the car having been ruled out), the factors could have combined themselves in that way any other day. Or never. Or it could have been some other event that claimed his life.

I mean, there's some tiny fraction of a percent that makes anything happen the way it does. You never think about how many times a day you could have died. It's probably really good we have no idea how close we all really are. I don't have any stats on this, but I'm just thinking about it. Random combinations of random factors that have random outcomes. Pushed a fraction one way, life. Pushed a fraction the other, death. So I don't dwell. In the beginning, I bargained like hell. As the last person to see or speak to K, to consider he drove my car from my house, late at night. I certainly felt a responsibility...I still do. But I don't feel at fault. I think we all just need to give up the notion that we control anything. We don't. Even with free will. You make decisions, sure, but you can't effect an outcome past the initial decision that started you down that path. I'm not a philosopher, so let me leave that all alone for now. But just think on it sometime, on a night when you're plagued with chatter.

Then there's the other type of guilt. It lights a fire under us. It's the kind where I ask what K would want me to do. Or what he would have done if it had been me instead of him (which makes my mom so distraught, but it's a fair question to pose). It's the type of guilt that makes me feel like I could be disappointing him somehow. It's the kind that makes me want to live life to the fullest, because he doesn't get to. Like if I don't, I'm dishonoring his memory. When K applied for law school, he wrote a lot about legacy. Neither of us could have ever imagined his legacy would be defined by what he did in 28 short years. So in a way, I feel a responsibility to help him create the legacy he didn't get to leave. I'm working on setting up a scholarship in his name at our alma mater, and his little brother, who is my little brother now, is someone I will always watch out for and take care of.

So if you're mired in guilt, my request to you is not to let it be the handicapping kind, but the kind that inspires you and pushes you on to really LIVE for the person you're grieving for. And don't wait to think about your legacy. You don't know if you have 28 or 78 years to create it, so don't wait. We all have such a short time here, no matter how many actual years we live, so don't wait to leave your mark, if you want to leave one at all. If there's something you want to do, do it. I know I will be.

Love.