I don't have the foggiest what's possessing me to come here so long after the fact, to sift through old posts and posture as if I plan to actually, truly, publish a new one. It's been three years since I've looked at the editing wall of this website, and even then I just drabbled mindlessly on a page and then left it for dead in the drafts folder.
But I guess I do know. I have to talk about Papa.
It's eating me up inside, this seamless forgetting that takes over like a virus in the absence of an ability to cope with loss. When I look back now on my mom, I find myself angry and terrified about how much I don't remember. How many details are lost; things I know I could remember about someone else. But it's more than that; looking back feels like gazing into an alternate dimension. Like watching a book character live out her life, already knowing the ending as well as the back of my hand, everything colored with those murky goggles of inevitable disaster. It's like my life was lived in two sections, two parts; 2011 B.C. (Before Christina), 2018 A.D. (After Death). Our paths don't cross, these two me's. I don't know her mind and she has no idea of the inner workings of mine. We're like ships in the night.
This is, of course, a dramatic way of looking at it. I can, of course, remember bits and pieces of what it felt to be that other, whole version of myself. And to some extent I feel like that's just part of growing up, leaving a bit of yourself behind every year until you hardly recognize the person you once were as you.
And yet, I know for a fact that there's a blockage in my mind when it comes to remembering her, and how important she once was to me. How there was a time when I really truly thought I couldn't live without her, and that her opinion of me was the only thing that truly defined me. Maybe those things were all true. It hurts that I can't find that part of me now, that I can't realign with that worldview, so safe and so simple. I search for validation in all the wrong places now a days and I know it but knowing it doesn't replace the Her in my life, doesn't make a million "she would be so proud's" into one "I love you, Locksley" from her lips.
I guess what's eating me up tonight is my helpless worry that the same will happen with Papa. I'm separating from him, from the memory of him. I didn't live with him at the end, didn't see him eveyr single day, so I'm at this point now where my brain is still cauterizing the wound slowly, telling my every so often "Hey! Haven't seen Papa in awhile have you?" As it often would. That's an over-complicated way to say I'm missing him, which didn't happen with Mom. That was like a giant hole being ripped; this is like a slow, oozing wound. But nonetheless I worry I'll loose him, all those things that I knew so well, that I ran to for comfort, that I joked and bragged about to people who didn't know him. Jack Benny and Jimmy Buffet, and the stuffed parrot he kept on his boat and the endless re-runs of "A Christmas Story" and his pet-peeve about keeping drawers closed all the way, and the Thomas the Tank Engines VHS's he used to collect for me and the Bella Sera and the time he accidentally threw out a bunch of family history with the goodwill stuff, or the stories he used to tell me when I was four. I can't possibly write it all. There's too much to tell, and it's all in my memory but I'm so afraid it'll be gone someday, replaced with the humdrum of a 9-5 and ex-boyfriend's sister's dog's names.
I'm throwing rocks at the wind now, clinging desperately to cliches but I just hope he knew how much I loved him. How much we all did. How everytime I rolled my eyes or acted like he was being harsh or unfair, I didn't mean it. That I thought the world of him and I always will. How he was my hero, perhaps the only person walking this planet who could tell me, no matter what was happening, that I would be OK and who could make me believe it.
The night my mother died he told me what was happening first. He took my outside, away from my sisters, and told me straight that things were looking bad, that he didn't know what would happen. And then he held me as my world came crashing down in a way it never had and never will again, as the two me's finally split and segregated. He held me against him as I cried and sobbed and questioned everything and even though nothing would ever be OK again I felt him there, as a bedrock beneath all my sorrow and uncertainty. I still feel him there, and I know he's still holding me somehow, but God, oh God what I wouldn't give to be pressed into his chest crying right at this moment.
There's currently no happy ending to this story, and no good answer to this question. Which is better? To constantly rehash the past, to live in a world of memory where loved one's are alive and keep their memories fresh at the price of constantly missing them every moment? Or to deal with loss like losing a limb, limping along towards what we can only hope is a bright future and pretending like we don't notice what's missing?
I can't tell you. I can only turn on another Jack Benny show and try to think about tomorrow as a new day.
Saturday, October 27, 2018
Sunday, January 6, 2013
In Which A New Year's Resolution Is Begun, And I Write Like Garfield
Responsibility is hard. Just gonna throw that out there for anyone who wants to agree.
I've always said I wasn't afraid of responsibility, but recently I'm seeing that become more and more untrue. I was obviously much less afraid of it when I started this blog, way back last year, because I should have known then that I wouldn't keep it up. And no, I'm not posting this to officially shut the thing down. Actually, I'm restarting it. It has to do with New Year's resolutions.
I'm gonna be an adult soon. That's a weird, creepy, daunting thing to say, but it's true. And as an adult, I'm gonna have to start dealing with copious amounts of responsibility. Better to start now. So this year, instead of jotting something inane like "I'm gonna be nicer" or "I'm gonna eat more salad" on my list of resolutions, I actually made a list of real, responsible things that I need to prioritize. Yes, eating right and exercising are on that list, as well as finding a job, getting my license, studying more, preparing for my graduation, etc, but the main one was this: I need to find a steady way to spend more time in God's presence.
I'm kind of a slob when it comes to this stuff. My relationship with God is awesome and fulfilling I have no problem praying on a regular basis, I feel closer to Him everyday. But as far as studying the holy book goes, I find myself stuck on an endless loop of guilt and avoidance. So that's why on the top of my list this year was this: I'm going to start reading the Bible in a year, and I'm going to post my progress here, daily. Or semi-daily. Whatever. But OFTEN, and here's why: I need readers to keep me responsible.
I don't exactly know what's going to go into this project: most likely, my random daily thoughts about what I've read, how it applies to life, etc.
I do not feel in the writing mood today. I'll just go ahead and say that. Some days I write novels every time I have to make a grocery list, and sometimes, like today, nothing seems to want to come out. Be prepared for that. So I'm just gonna go ahead and start, because otherwise I never will.
I'm using a sight that suggests several different methods, and I'm going to use the one that uses a bit from the new testament and a bit from the old testament, so hopefully it will keep things exciting.
The first thing I read was Genisis 1 -3. I am reading in ESV, and I'll never get over how beautiful the beginning passages are. Like poetry, only true, meaningful. People very rarely comment on how beautifully written this book is, but it hits a chord with me every time:
I've always said I wasn't afraid of responsibility, but recently I'm seeing that become more and more untrue. I was obviously much less afraid of it when I started this blog, way back last year, because I should have known then that I wouldn't keep it up. And no, I'm not posting this to officially shut the thing down. Actually, I'm restarting it. It has to do with New Year's resolutions.
I'm gonna be an adult soon. That's a weird, creepy, daunting thing to say, but it's true. And as an adult, I'm gonna have to start dealing with copious amounts of responsibility. Better to start now. So this year, instead of jotting something inane like "I'm gonna be nicer" or "I'm gonna eat more salad" on my list of resolutions, I actually made a list of real, responsible things that I need to prioritize. Yes, eating right and exercising are on that list, as well as finding a job, getting my license, studying more, preparing for my graduation, etc, but the main one was this: I need to find a steady way to spend more time in God's presence.
I'm kind of a slob when it comes to this stuff. My relationship with God is awesome and fulfilling I have no problem praying on a regular basis, I feel closer to Him everyday. But as far as studying the holy book goes, I find myself stuck on an endless loop of guilt and avoidance. So that's why on the top of my list this year was this: I'm going to start reading the Bible in a year, and I'm going to post my progress here, daily. Or semi-daily. Whatever. But OFTEN, and here's why: I need readers to keep me responsible.
I don't exactly know what's going to go into this project: most likely, my random daily thoughts about what I've read, how it applies to life, etc.
I do not feel in the writing mood today. I'll just go ahead and say that. Some days I write novels every time I have to make a grocery list, and sometimes, like today, nothing seems to want to come out. Be prepared for that. So I'm just gonna go ahead and start, because otherwise I never will.
I'm using a sight that suggests several different methods, and I'm going to use the one that uses a bit from the new testament and a bit from the old testament, so hopefully it will keep things exciting.
The first thing I read was Genisis 1 -3. I am reading in ESV, and I'll never get over how beautiful the beginning passages are. Like poetry, only true, meaningful. People very rarely comment on how beautifully written this book is, but it hits a chord with me every time:
"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. 2 The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.
3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.
6 And God said, “Let there be an expanse[a] in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” 7 And God made[b] the expanse and separated the waters that were under the expanse from the waters that were above the expanse. And it was so. 8 And God called the expanse Heaven.[c] And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.
9 And God said, “Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. 10 God called the dry land Earth,[d] and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good."
Genesis 2 has descriptions of the newly-formed earth, and then the gorgeous part that is the creation of woman:
“This at last is bone of my bones
and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called Woman,
because she was taken out of Man.”[q]
and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called Woman,
because she was taken out of Man.”[q]
The third chapter is about the fall. I find it interesting that number of events: creation, perfect life, fall. Another thing I noticed here that had never really stuck out at me before, is verse 8: "And they heard the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day..." I wonder how literal the original Hebrew is here, did the LORD physically walk in Eden with Adam and Eve? Did he have the appearance of a man?
The next thing it wants me to read is Mathew 1. I think I'll really like this set-up, because I've never had the sensation before of reading the Fall, and then almost immediately, the birth of Christ. Problem, solution. It just seems right. Of course, before that is the genealogy. One day I will go through this thing with a pencil and paper and pick out all the potential baby names I'm always finding in there. This is the shortest version of the nativity story ever, but what really sticks out at me here is Joseph's bravery, something I've never really thought about before.
And that's it. That was simple. I can do that, even if I really do have to force myself to write when I can only do so in a voice like Garfield. Like now. Anyway, I plan to do this every day, and one day I will right a really real introduction instead of this.
Friday, December 9, 2011
The Leak
How do you handle two emotions? How do you handle sadness, when it is right, and happiness, when it is inappropriate and artificial? When I feel I should just turn up the music so as not to hear the sobs of others, because there's really nothing I can do. Greed is like a drug. It eases my pain and I can't get enough, but it separates me from others and their problems: knowing their problems: and in the end, knowing them. And no one wants to burden me, everyone says. But what one person carries leaks on to the shoulders of those who stand trying to hold them up. Poetry and music...things that kindle feelings into fire are things that seem so irrelevant, but it seems like they push us here. Where have I gone to grow up, and how do I get back? Where do I go to do things right? How can I enjoy being good and happy and satisfied if others aren't? I get no joy out of hearing problems, I do not feel self-satisfied fixing them. I am empty and worried that it will all happen again. I am broken thinking about my own scars. I am loathing myself for hating them. Because I love myself, a lesson that was taught me and is learned by so few, I sit on a mountain of emotions I have conquered, and look down upon the others still toiling. I am not without pity, because I want them all up with me. But reaching out doesn't work: I'm not strong enough, they slide back down: and I am at the risk of falling. So I have to choose: pity them every moment of every day or ignore their suffering and hope for the best? No one can answer these questions, and the one who can has a policy of letting us find out the hard way. Nothing is harder than dealing with someone else's pain: wincing at looks, catching glimpses: thinking they are OK, not being sure: walking on pins and needles and trying to turn their heads away from that which brings sorrow. I want the word 'OK' to mean everyone. But I am always there, and no one else is. I can't guarantee happiness, I'd kill to be able to: I can't deserve it or win it or even give it. It's a gift with one giver, and it expires easily. Life is learning to love it while it's here: save it, make it worth while. Because it takes a lot to make things worth it in this life.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Introductory
So--here we are again at the unnecessary, but the same time, inevitable. This is the introductory post to a blog which only needs to be around for three seconds to tell me it's going to be a serious mixed blessing. I'm starting this new blog not necessarily to be the black hole of emotion on the internet, or even my online diary. I'm doing this because I feel I need to start opening up to people. As a kid I would always get worried whenever I witness an adult upset or overemotional. Somehow, even though my parents never made any efforts to stifle emotion in our household I came under the impression that this was not normal, and always meant something was very wrong. Whether that was something bred into me, or more likely something that was just a part of personality, it's never worn off. I'm still not very emotional. Tears come for me a lot easier by anger than by sadness, and fear makes me lose my head more than any of the two combined. Still, while I don't show it well, I have up and downs like any other teenagers. I will sometimes go to bed happy and wake up miserable, or vise-versa. I always said I hated people who thrived off emotion and drama: really I still don't like it. I would rather be happy if I can, I'd rather bake cookies and watch a VHS and read the Bible and think about the wonderful things ahead in the future...but it doesn't always work. It takes a serious effort of growing up to except that on my part. So this is plan B: opening up, that thing I've never been very good at? This is it.
I can never quite tell if I'm an optimist or a pessimist. I like to think the best is in store and the world is a great place and everything will work out in the end, but just in case I always assume the worst of the worst and worry myself crazy about it. Honestly, it depends on the day.
Another thing you should know is that I very much live in a world of my own imagination: I'm not nuts, because I can understand this one and function in it perfectly well, but I still spend half of my time imaging life the way I want it to be. Of course, the grass is always greener.
Here's another one: insecurity. Everyone expects a teenager to be insecure, but I went and did it differently than others. I'm fine with my looks, they are what they are and I don't want to change them even if I could. I don't feel stupid all the time, only about a third of it. What I really struggle with, is being satisfied. Satisfied with where I am, who I'm with, what I've accomplished. I struggle with thinking I could improve everything, that I could move the world off it's foundations if I wasn't so lazy and really worked for something. I don't want money, I want experiences. And I want to be in the place where people admire me. Where I didn't have to look up to people and hope I could reach where they are. I struggle with wanting that for myself. It's my biggest flaw. I'm not really vain, but I have been told my entire life that I'm good and special and smart and it's meant the world to me: It's brought me through some terrible times. I can't say I don't believe that, that I'm worth something. No one who is loved that much can grow up terrible. But I do sometimes doubt that it's all true, when I wonder whether I had the potential to be a child prodigy at the violin and just gave it up, or whether right now I'm passing up a chance to be the next Dostoyevsky checking facebook. So what I'm saying is, I am an over-accomplish-er who doesn't accomplish much.
That's just a few of many things to come, and that's what the blog is for. A lot of rambling (not an unfamiliar word with my writing as you well know) a lot of pointlessness, and a lot of opening up. It takes this to heal me, it always has and it always will. Sometimes I wish I could submit my prayers in writing: I think better that way. And...this may be the worst introductory of a blog ever.
I can't think of an ending, so instead I'll explain where the title of the blog came from: a very beautiful love song called "If"I heard on the Muppet show and later at my teacher's house:
If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show,
The you I've come to know.
If a face could launch a thousand ships,
Then where am I to go?
There's no one home but you,
You're all that's left me too.
And when my love for life is running dry,
You come and pour yourself on me.
If a man could be two places at one time,
I'd be with you.
Tomorrow and today,
Beside you all the way.
If the world should stop revolving,
Spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you.
And when the world was through...
Then one by one the stars would all go out,
Then you and I would simply fly away
I can never quite tell if I'm an optimist or a pessimist. I like to think the best is in store and the world is a great place and everything will work out in the end, but just in case I always assume the worst of the worst and worry myself crazy about it. Honestly, it depends on the day.
Another thing you should know is that I very much live in a world of my own imagination: I'm not nuts, because I can understand this one and function in it perfectly well, but I still spend half of my time imaging life the way I want it to be. Of course, the grass is always greener.
Here's another one: insecurity. Everyone expects a teenager to be insecure, but I went and did it differently than others. I'm fine with my looks, they are what they are and I don't want to change them even if I could. I don't feel stupid all the time, only about a third of it. What I really struggle with, is being satisfied. Satisfied with where I am, who I'm with, what I've accomplished. I struggle with thinking I could improve everything, that I could move the world off it's foundations if I wasn't so lazy and really worked for something. I don't want money, I want experiences. And I want to be in the place where people admire me. Where I didn't have to look up to people and hope I could reach where they are. I struggle with wanting that for myself. It's my biggest flaw. I'm not really vain, but I have been told my entire life that I'm good and special and smart and it's meant the world to me: It's brought me through some terrible times. I can't say I don't believe that, that I'm worth something. No one who is loved that much can grow up terrible. But I do sometimes doubt that it's all true, when I wonder whether I had the potential to be a child prodigy at the violin and just gave it up, or whether right now I'm passing up a chance to be the next Dostoyevsky checking facebook. So what I'm saying is, I am an over-accomplish-er who doesn't accomplish much.
That's just a few of many things to come, and that's what the blog is for. A lot of rambling (not an unfamiliar word with my writing as you well know) a lot of pointlessness, and a lot of opening up. It takes this to heal me, it always has and it always will. Sometimes I wish I could submit my prayers in writing: I think better that way. And...this may be the worst introductory of a blog ever.
I can't think of an ending, so instead I'll explain where the title of the blog came from: a very beautiful love song called "If"I heard on the Muppet show and later at my teacher's house:
If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show,
The you I've come to know.
If a face could launch a thousand ships,
Then where am I to go?
There's no one home but you,
You're all that's left me too.
And when my love for life is running dry,
You come and pour yourself on me.
If a man could be two places at one time,
I'd be with you.
Tomorrow and today,
Beside you all the way.
If the world should stop revolving,
Spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you.
And when the world was through...
Then one by one the stars would all go out,
Then you and I would simply fly away
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)