it’s hard

April 27, 2009

I know a number of you out there have grieved the loss of one of your parents and it’s heartening to hear about your lives these days. Running races, raising kids, falling in love, getting engaged . . . it’s heartening just knowing there’s another side to all this. Even if I don’t know the everyday details of your lives right right, which surely have their ups and downs, the parts I do hear about sound like spring feels.

I’m just so tired these days. Tired and more sad than I thought I would be, although I don’t know exactly what I thought was going to happen. I’m surprised by how grief has had laid me open. Softened me in some respects and broken my heart heart in others. For instance, the girl I like in Western Mass is as sick as she’s ever been. And I can’t really be there in it with her.

Part of me wants to tear down anything I’m still close to and anything I love so I don’t have to suffer losing it some day. Because the old distractions have only worked to pass time — tv, junk food, shopping –it’s all cellohane. Of course I can’t commmit to that path. Not that I fully want to inside anyway. I’m only half hearted at being shut down and self desctructive. For the last two days, all I can do is cry and I’m not sure what I’m even crying about exactly. It’s not all about missing my dad per se. And it’s not all about things falling apart with the girl in Mass. Although both those things make me sad. Sometimes very sad. But lately, it seems it’s more that I’m scared. That life seems so full of the potential for so much heart break that I can barely stand thinking about it.


4 responses to “it’s hard”

  1. peptide says:

    Two things: I met Pema Chodron briefly Monday night at a fundraiser for Tricycle Magazine. She was quite nice and talked w/ my Aunt and me about Cape Breton and whale watching. I also saw Natalie Merchant sing and play piano and John Giorno read three poems – he was like a jazz musician performing his lines. Fun night.

    Second: I came across this by Sherman Alexie and thought of you:

  2. liz says:

    That was a lovely poem. Thank you very much. Sometimes I feel I’ve become invisible to people b/c I can’t keep my grief neat and packaged up. It spills out every where.

    And wow – what a great night. Poetry, music and meeting Pema Chodron. She’s not a hero exactly, but being short of the right words these days, it’s enough to say she’s something like a hero.

  3. peptide says:

    My feelings about her are much the same – hero isn’t the right word, but it gets at what she’s been for me. I actually considered asking for an autograph, but didn’t have the urge once we were talking.
    I’ve felt bad a couple of times when reading your blog because I wanted to say something to offer some comfort and empathy, but couldn’t quite figure out what to say. I type things and delete them, sometimes repeatedly. Reading through your experience as its developed has deepened my appreciation for the enormity of losing a parent. In the abstract it’s obviously a sad thing, yet it’s the details and complexities (esp. when a relationship has lots of loose, untended strings) that don’t fold up into a neat package that make the sadness so real.

  4. liz says:

    Anything you would say would be ok, really. Because I know you would be listening. Witnessing. That alone is comforting to me.

    It’s kinda funny, thinking about asking for Pema’s autograph, but I completely understand why you would do that, she’s our rock star of compassion.

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