I wish I could spend my whole day in my bed with the covers keeping me warm and my house would clean itself, my work would get done, my prayers would be prayed, my husband would be loved and I wouldn't have to concentrate on anything but just drift off into oblivious sleep.
I went to pray this morning. I was so tired. For no reason. I got a ton of sleep. I get a lot of sleep. But I wanna sleep all the time.
So I moved to the couch to lie down instead of sit in my prayer chair and about when I had to really get up because I would be late for work, I looked out of the window and realized I sat down to pray and hadn't prayed about anything for a whole hour and a half. And I saw the blue sky and I thought about how Maura wasn't here and I thought, "Oh great God, now I REALLY don't have the time to tackle this monster, Grief, can we just not get into it this morning?" And I pushed the monster to the back of my mind forcing myself not to think about the absence of my sister.
And it seems lately that either I stare at her picture on my desk for ages thinking, "Did she really exist? Was she even there? Did I really laugh so hard when we took those pictures? Did I really feel her beautiful thick hair in my hands as I pulled? Her soft hands as she applied makeup to my face? Did I really ever have a little sister or has it always just been me and Danielle?" And its like I'm fighting to remember that there was a time I could pick up the phone and just call her.
And I hate myself for thinking those thoughts. Like she never was.
And then the other half of the time, all I think is, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
Like this morning, I see the blue sky the exact color of her eyes and I think, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I see the boot store where I bought her grey boots last Christmas and those skinny boots sitting in the window--staring me in the face and the buttons winking as if to torment me with the thought, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I go to play rehearsal and someone makes a comment and I say, "o-o-oh" the way she used to--sortof going up and down on my voice and nasalizing it...and then I notice I sound just like her and I again the thought pounds into my brain, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
She's not here anymore.
Not since May.
And the grief is still so palpative. In fact, I'm beginning to believe there is such a thing as "grief years" much like we have "doggy years" and five months is merely "earlier today" in grief years and one year is merely "yesterday" in grief years. Because it hurts like I just saw her last breath.
And the ever persistent image of her beautiful body completely lifeless, always accompanies my old enemy Grief and his most obtrusive sentence, "Maura isn't here anymore."
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
It pounds in my head over and over and over and over and over.
And don't get me started on Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. I asked my group what they thought about the holidays, I expressed my dreaded and paralyzing anticipation of the next two months and I asked if they knew of any way to survive. And they all got quiet and finally one man spoke and he said, "Lydia, I hate to tell you this...especially since we've been saying that your anticipation of pain is always less than it actually is...during the holidays...its worse. Your anticipation is much less than it will actually be." And they all agreed! Oh crap!! I'm in for it. Because the anticipation is almost debilitating I have to force teh thought of sitting around a Thanksgiving table and not remind myself how last year each one of us sat at a table and gave thanks for Maura still being alive. And this year, I have nothing to give thanks for. And there won't be any dessert because she's not there to make the Key lime pie or the cheesecake and God help me make mashed potatoes because I just don't know how. But even my soupy mashed potatoes taste better when Maura is there to mercilessly poke fun at them.
And Christmas...If thanksgiving crumbles me, Christmas annihilates me. I hate my favorite time of the year.
Oh God, the days ahead are hard. And I am tormented with Grief. He is a constant visitor who insists that I look at this whole world You've created through his eyes and my soul feels his piercing arrow everywhere my eyes turn. Because everything beautiful, yellow, blue, teal, funny or blonde reminds me of my sister. And then it reminds me that she's not here anymore.
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Lydia, I wish you didn't write so well because it seems almost crass of me to mention just how beautifully you write when the subject your write about is your palpable grief. I'm sure you don't see the blessing in it, in the ability to give words to what is so obviously visceral.
ReplyDeleteI wish that I could write back so eloquently with words that would bring you comfort. But it appears that someone as special as Maura will take more than mere words to elicit comfort. One day your memories of her will do that for you, but for now they are bittersweet, with the emphasis on the bitter. And then to add insult to injury, you are so very hard on yourself for feeling the way you do, for not being able to be farther along in your grief, as if you are somehow failing the process and thereby failing Maura.
I do know this one thing for absolutely sure: You could never fail Maura. She loved you so very much and the symbiotic relationship that tied the too of you together in life is just as strong in death. Because she is truly still alive, just not in a sense that allows you the magic of making more memories, of buying more boots, of sharing more laughter. You will have to do that for the both of you. And don't you think that is what she would want for you...that the depth of your capability to feel love would still be there for yourself and for the others in your life whom you love?
You said you sat in your prayer chair for an hour and a half and didn't pray. Oh, how I disagree with that! You may have sat without thought, without language, without expression. But you prayed. There was an open line between God and your heart, and He was allowed in to discern all that you feel, all that you know, all that you need. Prayer isn't a sentence. It isn't a chair. It's a relationship. And yours is very strong, both with God and with Maura.
I know the holidays will be painful. Milestones are painful. But so is love. Even in her presence there must have been times when the love hurt. It's part of love. And it's part of loss. But I know without a doubt that had God told you that He was going to give you Maura and that you would only have her for such a short time, you would have begged Him to bring her to you. You would have opened your arms wide and welcomed her into your world. Because your world without Maura for even so little time would not be a world you would have wanted to know.
I won't offer you platitudes to try to make you feel better. I will just share with your the truth as I observe it. You are gifted. You are talented. You are beautiful. And one day, one day very soon I hope, you will use all those gifts and beauty and talent to created something to edify Maura.
And she will live forever because of it.