PAUSE
Reflecting On a Life Not Lived, On a Story Not Told.
When I finally meet Godde,
in all of their glory, I will ask them if
they have a giant, cosmic remote with which to
press PLAY,
STOP,
PAUSE.
Sometimes, as your story is rolling along,
everything seems part of it. Even doing the dishes or laundry
or taking a shit.
Then, you wake up
one morning
and it feels like you’re in a holding pattern, like
someone pressed PAUSE on your life.
And you want to hold your breath, but it hurts.
You want to move and be normal, but it hurts.
This morning feels like PAUSE.
And I am stuck where I am. And…well….
I don’t know.
(PAUSE)
I don’t know what to say or write.
Because even the tips of my fingers
hurt as I try. I keep swallowing.
There is no shift.
It’s almost like A Grief Observed but
Grief is waiting at the door, hasn’t
crossed the frame.
“Well?” I ask.
“Are you going to move? You in or out?”
But even Grief is PAUSED in the doorway.
Writes Lewis, ““You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it?”
It’s like snorkeling.
This is why I’m afraid of drowning.
Breathing, but not really.
Shallow breaths in deep water, all at once.
Grief quietly whispers to me across the door frame,
“You’ll know if I am going to enter. You’ll know
when. You’ll know why.
But for now, even now, I am waiting at the window.”
Fucking tease.
“After he came down from the mountain, large crowds followed him. And look, a leper approached him and fell at his feet, saying,
‘Master, if you want to, you can cleanse me.’
And Jesus held out his hand and touched him, saying,
‘I do want to. Be cleansed.’”
I DO want to.
I do WANT to.
I’m stifled.
Afraid, today.
Fear:
Comes from a desire to control something.
So, what am I trying to control?
Control:
How people see me.
How I see myself.
My story.
My job security, MY security.
Secure, safe. Am I safe AND secure?
I’m alive.
Worst case scenario:
I lose my job, home, friendship, love, money. I try
again.
It’s like I’m watching a film
with someone special to me and they
have pressed PAUSE right before the film is
about to get really good.
Maybe they have to take a bathroom
break. And, as I sit there,
frustrated
and in that holding pattern, I hear the faint whisper
of a song.
“Where the hell is that song coming from?” I ask.
So, I get up from my chair (she’s still peeing in the bathroom),
and I follow the soft notes of the music to
the kitchen. There’s a radio there. And it’s playing
a beautiful song. Why?
Because I forgot that I left the
radio on.
You smile because you love the song. And you
realize that if the film was still playing, you’d be
stuck to the screen, to the unfolding story, and you’d miss the
beauty of the song.
Last evening, at the coffee shoppe,
I sat with Dr. Aaron the Amazing.
He spoke words of
kindness and encouragement.
Dr. Aaron said,
“It is hard to be misinterpreted.
And this story you’ve shared goes
against everything I know about you, Joey.
We are here with
you, because of who
you are. You have helped me, and Bella, and
Megan, and Dakota, and the other Aaron.
You’re amazing. And there’s a lot
of shit coming your way, every day. And
I know that you can handle it, because
you always find a way to pick
up and move forward.”
The song playing after the
film is PAUSED.
Mackesy writes, “Also remember you matter, you’re important and you are loved, and you bring to this world things no one else can. So, hold on.”
And still it hurts.
And still,
I cannot catch my breath.
And we will get there when we get there.
