I remember someone telling me not long after Jerry died that 6 months would be a turning point and 1 year would be a new start...at the time I was too numb to respond or react. Six months, 1 year have all come and gone and those turning points and new starts are wishes in the wind. There has however been a lot of reflection, pause and hesitation. Re-thinking all the reasons and purposes of being here, being a participant of this experience we call "life".
In those darker moments when I couldn't comprehend the loss, couldn't fathom another breath, when every bone and joint hurt, I would send out thoughts to a higher source, to God, the Goddess and beg for a miracle. ...Please let me disappear at my own will, snap of a finger, up in a cloud of smoke - gone. Please let me vanish without a trace even if only for a moment or two until I can sort through all the jumble of emotions and triggers that Jerry's passing clearly ignited...
I wasn't suicidal, I just didn't want to "be" any longer, or at least for a little while.
There was peace in my daydreams of this other subsistence where I could imagine myself inhaling a life on the isolated coast of Maine that would heal my soul and feed what I had come to dread; every waking moment. I'd sit in a fisherman's bar, weather beaten wood walls shades of grey, the wind whistling through the cracks in the windows and the smell of salt in the air permeating every pore, bouncing from lost soul to lost soul feeling like home. Sad Blues playing on an old eroded jukebox, slip in another quarter and let the tunes roll like the tide. The waves roll and thunder, crashing up against a shoreline with no end to its history or future. My hair long curls twirling around the dampness in the ocean breeze, a vacant expression that would not repel or attract, dark eyes that only the brave or curious would look into; they become my comrades of melancholy and resurrection. They would know my name and I theirs, greetings of a nod is all that is required in a place where silence vibrates louder than words that tend to ring hollow until a shot of the days catch slides across the mahogany bar, warming cold hands and chipping away at inhibitions. This place will become my safe haven...for awhile...
In those darker moments when I couldn't comprehend the loss, couldn't fathom another breath, when every bone and joint hurt, I would send out thoughts to a higher source, to God, the Goddess and beg for a miracle. ...Please let me disappear at my own will, snap of a finger, up in a cloud of smoke - gone. Please let me vanish without a trace even if only for a moment or two until I can sort through all the jumble of emotions and triggers that Jerry's passing clearly ignited...
I wasn't suicidal, I just didn't want to "be" any longer, or at least for a little while.
There was peace in my daydreams of this other subsistence where I could imagine myself inhaling a life on the isolated coast of Maine that would heal my soul and feed what I had come to dread; every waking moment. I'd sit in a fisherman's bar, weather beaten wood walls shades of grey, the wind whistling through the cracks in the windows and the smell of salt in the air permeating every pore, bouncing from lost soul to lost soul feeling like home. Sad Blues playing on an old eroded jukebox, slip in another quarter and let the tunes roll like the tide. The waves roll and thunder, crashing up against a shoreline with no end to its history or future. My hair long curls twirling around the dampness in the ocean breeze, a vacant expression that would not repel or attract, dark eyes that only the brave or curious would look into; they become my comrades of melancholy and resurrection. They would know my name and I theirs, greetings of a nod is all that is required in a place where silence vibrates louder than words that tend to ring hollow until a shot of the days catch slides across the mahogany bar, warming cold hands and chipping away at inhibitions. This place will become my safe haven...for awhile...
