My Friend Is Still Dead
For a lot of reasons, her death was extremely tragic. She did everything right; legally, by the book. And still she ended up shot through the heart, because nobody was listening.
So I've moved through the stages of grief. I think they are different for everyone, but for me, it has been denial, anger and action.
The denial feeds the anger, the anger spurs the action. But really, they are just band aids for the deeper hurt that I haven't yet allowed myself to fully experience.
I suspect I won't be able to move into the acceptance stage until I do.
But I've realized that my friend has given me a gift; unbeknownst to her. I think she would be glad to know her death wasn't entirely in vain, but I know both of us would rather she were still alive, and the gift still ungiven.
So I can't waste it.
I've been doing a lot of procrastinatign in terms of what I should do with my life now that motherhood is no longer a full time gig. I didn't prepare for this day, truthfully.
It's funny...when you're deep in the throes of sleepless nights and catnap days, you really can't conceive of a day when your time is your own again. But it comes. Quickly.
This song has been playing incessantly in my head:
I know it's about obsessive love, but for me, the words resonate because they speak about loss of identity; the confusion over what and who I've become in the 14 years since I said good-bye to singularity.
"I don't know, who I am, who I am without you...."
For me, it isn't a greedy lover who has appropriated my sense of self, but needy children. It isn't their fault, of course. It's mine. I gave it up without a thought, thinking myself a good mother.
So now the time has come to change that. And I know it has to be done. But as you all know, because I have written about it ad nauseum, I am rife with indecision.
Someone suggested I was just lazy. But I'm not. I'm scared.
So, I keep putting it off. I tell myself that tomorrow, I'll decide. Tomorrow I'll make some calls. Tomorrow I'll create my gameplan. Tomorrow, I will take that first step.
But you know what? Eventually, we run out of tomorrows. My sweet friend thought she had many more tomorrows left to see.
I don't want to die never having done something really great. I don't want to die never having done something my kids can be proud of. I don't want to die wondering who I am.
The gift my friend has given me, is the gift of today and the clarity to see that I have to live like there is no tomorrow.
Thank You, L.