There's an entry sort of before this one and sort of after this one posted just previously. And if you don't go read it, you'll just never know how that's possible. *This* entry will probably make the slightest bit more sense if you've read that, also. So, get comfy; I rambled a lot.
I'm not even going to go into the holiday at the moment. Hallmark has nothing to do with what this day is for me.
And actually, I'm thinking about yesterday. Yesterday was such a day; it was so full, overflowing...I don't know how to feel. That's not true; I'm very practiced. I'm very good at feeling. And again today, I feel like I am going to cry, ha ha funny, when do I ever not feel that way? I don't always. I don't always. And I don't always feel like crying for the same reason, if that makes a difference. Yesterday was so overly full with you and your voice and the things you said and the things I hadn't told you and the fears I know too well and the promise you can't ever make me but did.
And then the second call. And all I could say was thank you, except I think I got an I-love-you or three in somewhere. All I could say was thank you. For your impulsivity, for your desperation, for your need, and your heart, and for telling me. I haven't been good about telling you. I haven't. I've just been doing what I thought I needed, and I haven't wanted to hurt you when I didn't need you to know. I did tell you Dixie's in the hospital; I had forgotten, but I remember now I did. So, I haven't kept every secret. But I'm so sorry that's how you found out about Dave. That's such a bad, awful, horribly wrong way to find out. That's worse than an e-mail from someone who doesn't realize the impact of what they're saying. To come across someone totally clueless, to be told in a moment when you may be going back... I wish I could have known and told you, but sweetie, Godd, that moment I found out, I freaked out, and I'm sorry, but it was hard yesterday to not be the only one freaking out. It was hard to summon the answers I've found to some of these questions and say them to you, instead of just going back into the fear and the pain that are still present, still so close. I couldn't call you that day; I couldn't call you afterward. I didn't want you to find out the way you did, and I'm sorry. I don't know what excuse there is for a friend who couldn't find the strength to tell you this herself. It's just so hard to be the bearer of news of that intensity, when I can't be there to hold you while we cry. It's just so hard to hand you that sort of injury, that stunning, shocking pain, when I can't be there to insulate a little, to wrap myself around you. It's not caretaking, Sara. It's not. I know you know that, if you think about it backward, if you think about it inverted. It's just so hard to feel so fragile and have to give that pain to someone else, even if it's truth, even if I know you're strong enough to be ok; it's so hard to hurt you even when it's not my fault, and it's so hard not to hold you as I do. I didn't know you'd find out anyway, call me thinking I was clueless (of course, if I had known, why wouldn't I have told you?), and I still wouldn't be able to hold you, and I still wouldn't be able to brush the hair out of your face and hold your hand. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for us. This sucks. This sucks so much - holding a telephone which is connected to a signal which is connected to a telephone that's in your hand. Instead of just grabbing on. When you were in the hospital this last time, having overdosed, you know what I realized? If it had worked (and bless the gods that do exist, bless the love that let this one pass without explosion) the last time I ever would have seen you would've been October 10, 2001. Your discharge. The last time! And I don't want that. I don't want that at all. I don't want there to be a last time, and I don't want it to be so long ago as that. I want to hold you again now, the way we used to. I want to have these talks we have where I can see your face, reach out and you're still real. I had a dream the other night that you helped Dixie get into a treatment situation that could really help her. I don't know why I didn't think, even then, about the need for someone to help you.
I love you. Godd, I love you. Testimony, these tears, testimony. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that wanting it isn't enough. I'm so sorry that it's not ok. You said, you don't understand how people can die from this, how that can happen, how that can ever be ok, and I told you I don't understand either. As far as I can tell, it happens, but it's not ok, it's never ok, and hear me on this, I lose my mind thinking about all those people out there struggling with this - I could shed my skin over it - and all I have to think of is you, just you, and I feel that much pain and fear again. You matter as much as the rest of the invisible world. And it isn't pressure (I said that, right?) - it isn't pressure - because I know you're working and I know how much you want it, but it'll never be right for you to be one of the ones who doesn't make it. You aren't meant to be in that group because that group isn't meant to exist, and even if ...how did I say this part? - even if, ultimately, it's loss... it'll never be right. It'll never be ok. And I want a guarantee, too; I want the certainty that it's all going to be ok, that even if we continue to hang in the balance, we'll continue, we won't ever fall. I want that, too. How did I say it to you last night? I think I said, I love you. I love you, and I have this idea of *how* I want to love you, and I don't want to have to change that. I don't ever want to have to change that.
Into, I know you're always with me. Into, I know you can hear me. Into, I know you still love me, and I still love you, and I know we're still connected. Into, this is so wrong and you're so close, but I miss you so much. Into an anniversary that isn't your discharge or your birthday... That's not how sisters are supposed to love; you know that. That's not how it's supposed to be for us.
Hang on. Hang on; please don't...die. Please.
You promised me. You gave me the guarantee; you promised me you wouldn't let it take you, and I don't even know if you can make that promise. Can you make that promise? You have so much power you don't know about, but do you have that much? Does anyone of us have that much, that we can make that promise - which I know you didn't say lightly? I was just being honest; I didn't know the words were so pleading... I want you to know this: You promised me you'd live, and I believe you. I know you will never break your word. Which means that no matter what, you're alive. And no matter what, you didn't give in. If something happens, it's not because you wanted it, and I know that, I know that a hundred million times, so don't ever think I'll believe otherwise because I won't. I'll never, ever doubt that you wanted to be free of this and live.
Live. That's what we promised to do. Just. Stay. Alive. Like it's so small, but you said you could do that; you said you could wake up in the mornings, and that's enough. We said it like it's so small, but you heard me remind you, say, you know what a big difference that makes. Whether someone is alive or not. And I promised to get through my days, and your phone squeaked its last few words, and you said, "my phone's going to die," and we both said, "but you're not, we're not, I'm not" ... the phone's going to die, but we're going to live. Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive.
And you called back to tell me Jenna's alive. You didn't talk to her, but her dad said she's at her mom's, and she can't be at her mom's if she's not here, working, well enough to be moving back and forth. And all I could say was thank you, and I love you triplicate... Thank you for having the courage I so rarely have. To pick up the phone, knowing you might get the worst news anyone ever hears. Thank you for being different from me, that you can do those things. Thank you for telling me, for giving me that gift, and the gift of you, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry about Dave. I couldn't call you.
But by the time you called me, I'd thought up a few things that make it easier. Like, he didn't fall off the planet. Like, "resign" is a terrible, awful verb, and it's not at all what he did. He didn't give up. He didn't quit. He didn't lose hope. He just did what he always said he would; he went back to the outpatient work, so that he could continue to help people, before the intensity of residential burned him out completely. He did this so he could continue fighting. He's gone from Rogers, but we haven't lost him. Dave doesn't resign himself, and he doesn't give up where we're still fighting. That's the truth. And I know you know it, I know it, even though we're hurt. Even though our Rogers is gutted and crumbling at its foundation. Even though, as the doctor said, there's a "mere fraction" of them left. We may not gather there now, but we're still together. Somewhere. I'm still crying. 2.5 years seems more like distance than accomplishment. The doctor said bittersweet; I can't taste the sweet right now. He said he imagines any anniversary - 18 years, even - will be this "bittersweet." I'm a long way out this time. I've walked rather far on the energy of what I had, and I have to keep going. I believe they're walking with me. And this is not Greek myth, not Ovid; I can believe and look over my shoulder to check at the same time.
To see you there.
Have a little faith in me...
Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah. Staying Alive.
Sara, I woke up this morning. I'm still here at the other end of the phone, I still love you, I still believe we're going to make it, I still believe Jenna's part of that we, I still believe in Rogers, and Dave still didn't "resign" - he simply moved his services. Sara, that call last night was the most honest I've been with anyone in a long, long time. Thank you. And I love you triplicate, times a zillion or so. And you know, this is love. Not like my dad always said, not "it hurts" so brutally, like that's the point, not that. But this is love. So strong it brings my soul to its knees. So incredibly far from surface affection, flirtation, though we still have our fun. This is the love that shapes people from the inside; like water making a cave in rock. We are my favorite love.
One of you sweethearts, kick the Kleenex my way.
~me