It is said that there is nothing to writing. You open a vein… and let it flow – and other times there is a nurse who tells you to pump your hand, to encourage your literary blood to spill. I am not sure spilling my blood would be quite the aim, nor truly appreciated, except perhaps by my first husband off course who would reverse over me had he ever the opportunity.
life week has been filed with much emotion. I had grown up to believe inside myself that emotions and vulnerability is what makes me human and real, but off late, I’ve discovered them to be a liability more than an asset to be honest. I’ve grown weary of being misunderstood and explaining myself. I have to trust that this will not stop me being whom I am at the core.
It was the 12th anniversary of the dead boy Tim’s death on St. Patrick’s Day. My family is probably secretly thankful that Tim chose that day to fall four stories, hit a bannister and die which means it is one less day I could make a family sit down dinner with matching serviettes and leprechauns, make them dress in green and such.
Many people seem to forget those that came before fairly quickly as if they were never here at all. I seriously hope you all remember me and cry a river! I will off course have to give you a small haunting otherwise!
I’m fuckwit-ish when it comes to the dead. I cannot say I like this about myself but I do not dislike it either. I did not grow up in a house where dead people where saints, and nor do I believe once you died you gained a small hallow… if you were a fuckwit, you remain such, if you were a person of substance you remain such….. but I remember and I recall and I acknowledge. I love deeply, with devotion and dedication, I give off myself in relationships and once loved by me you have to do something daringly awful, caused me great hurt to fall from grace…. I quote dear Tuesdays with Morrie (my favourite English book) when I write, “Death ends a life, not a relationship.” …. and this is true for me.
Anyhow, I was very aware on the 17th that Tim was dead again, that he would stay 25 forever and that I wouldn’t. That he would never meet my daughter or see how the boys have grown. He won’t meet my husband or laugh about me being the woman in the shoe with so many kids she honestly didn’t know what to do. He would never know that in the end I never did live a little life. I’ve had many adventures, both good and bad, and he would have been proud of me. I smiled this year when I thought of him and his words that he loves me all the time, sometimes the flame just burns a little brighter and it was enough. I didn’t mourn, I merely remembered – a huge plus for a few year back! (as some of you well know.) Perhaps I am writing this to remind myself how far I have come.
A quotes group I belong to send the poem of the day and it happened to be the poem Tim recited and dedicated to me at a past gathering. Reading the poem (She walks in beauty, like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies ….. Lord Byron) and it did not make me cry. I felt remembered also, and that by some co-incidence Tim, or the universe or angels somehow “acknowledged” me. How nice of him to be all proper and organize a message from the grave. *wink* I mean 12 years is a long time not to hear from your best friend.
Loving a person never takes from loving another, one friendship never needs to over power another. I don’t love one less because I had loved another before – love in my opinion is endless, bountiful and full of endless possibilities. Just like you don’t run out of love the more kids you have! I love my husband, I couldn’t even count the ways Miss Browning because my mathematical skills are atrocious but it is lots, but I have to acknowledge was it not for others that came before, I would never have been whom I am today and I wouldn’t be the person my husband loves. That girl would not have existed at all for him to love.
I would never have ventured into the territories I have, had it not been for Tim’s friendship that made a huge impact on my life. Tim saw me as a person, beyond a smile, the fat body and the quick wit and knew I was not okay and made it his business to leave me in a better space than where he had found me.
He believed in me much like a teacher who saw promise in a student.
Funny, how I fell for the teacher, Noid in the end. Clearly I needed more help! hahahahah I have learned much from darling Noid, new lessons, new adventures, a new history – and again, three years on I am not who I was three years ago before he came to my life. That girl isn’t to be found and he has also encouraged a better version of myself to be born…. best he keeps himself alive because I have a long way to go and he is a great teacher and I like being his pet.
I am a student of life, love and everything else…. I am thankful for those that came to cast light on my way – who teaches me the words and the way. Especially the way….. I know far toooo many words already.
I wish you people who realise you are worth exploring.