Maybe you wrestle with whether you’re worthwhile. I understand if you struggle against feeling like it isn’t. I wanted to write to tell you my story today and to say thank you for being here. Maybe faith will move mountains, but love has moved my heart, and I think that would prove to be the greater miracle. They’ve both seen me in all of my death and life and the headspaces in-between, and I’m thankful for their love. This was handwritten before it was transcribed because another friend took to theme 2015 “ analog” and reminded me that if time is money, it’s an exponentially higher currency, so I’m trying to slow back down and out of the frenzy.
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My friend gave me a journal to write in for the New Year. And I know it drops with other people who are living and dying at the same time, but we’re alive. I know that a ball drop isn’t salvation, but I also know that I don’t want to stay in these places. Too scary close to coming back to the places that make death more enticing than life. Too much of trying to make people like me like me love me love me. It felt like too many fights with my wife, too little trust in my heart that she’d love me if I was who I am. It felt like foggy mirrors and frosted windows. It felt categorized and paralyzed by that fear.
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It felt like too much to drink on too many nights. My friend said that the other night, ringing in the New Year. I wonder whether there’s more black or white on your canvas today? Redemption and new life and joy and new love, and my mother’s eyes are shining. With my cousins and all their comings of age, and my aunts and all of their giggles.įive years to the month past weeping at a funeral, and we come to gather for laughter at a wedding. With the uncle whose garage smells like the cigars he smokes. With the uncle who used to wrestle me to the floor and made a beeline toward me for a bear hug the day he arrived for the funeral. With my grandma, who still remembers him. With my grandpa, who is trying to remember me.
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TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN MEANING SKIN
Sometimes, I find myself with the same ants beneath my skin that my father had, but I tried to actually be with my sister, and her new husband, and my wife. I needed to remember that people are not commodities. Tragedies aren’t commodities, either. I tried not to sell my way through Black Friday and Cyber Monday. This Thanksgiving, I thought a lot about my dad. It’s not that I don’t believe it’s there it’s just that sometimes my faith feels more like cataracts than clarity. The holidays are hard for me, and the New Year always brings death into the periphery (or forefront) of whatever life it is that I’m supposed to be seeing. Maybe you’d say I’d say different if I only knew.
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And that doesn’t minimize the suffering either one of us has to endure, but we’re both in pain and alive together. If you’re in pain today, you’re not the only one. You know it’s always deceitful above all things. I want to weep, but there’s some hope that maybe he’s still alive somewhere.īut I feel like my heart is lying to me. We are just waiting for a phone call to give us the freedom to mourn with all that we are. I got drunk on New Year’s Eve, alone, while my dad got drunk at home, alone. I kissed him when he came to the Christmas Eve service that I read at – maybe the last time he’ll ever see me perform. Two months ago, I visited him in the hospital…and then I visited him in another one. My dad has been gone for nearly a week now. I found this entry from January 12, 2011: That was his wing in Santa Barbara’s psychiatric care unit during Thanksgiving week when I checked into it to visit him 1,879 days ago. I’ve been reading through journal entries a couple of pages down from the Cottage Health System Visitor Pass stickers that I pasted to the days leading up to that one.ĥ East. He checked himself into a hotel room fifteen minutes from the other end of that phone call, positioned himself on the bathroom floor, and went home too early. Last Thursday was the five-year anniversary of the day my dad called to tell my mother that he loved her, and that he loved my sister and me, and that we may not see him again.