I have so many tiny tidbits of life that I could string at the beginning of this entry to entice you in... I don't know which one to choose. I could be glad to have a handful; surely the sum of them looks like a life, my life, not everything I want it to be but still here, still mine, still conducive to the promising presence of dreams. ...Earlier today, I thought that maybe I need to let fly the words "sunset" and "sunrise" to help myself remember that the sun never leaves, and suddenly I had this vision of the earth as a girl in a soft dress, spinning out of pure pleasure and youth and the satisfaction of being seen and smiled upon... Even now, it makes my spirit pulse a little more peacefully. I admit I'm cradling a sadness inside tonight, and I'm not entirely sure why. I had a surprisingly ok day (and I love ok days), and I didn't sleep it all away despite the accidental med addition. I played around at livejournal, organized a few more quotes into my collection, and added the recommended books, music, and movies to the Big List, which I know you want to contribute to (nudge, nudge), and thought about April 17th, the night of the vigil. I've decided I want to do everything in my power to be there. It's going to mean some tough work before, during, and after, but I think it's worth it. I feel like now is the time. Going back without Sara, without someone who understands and was there, is not something I can imagine; this time she will be there. Going back after Stacy has left, along with all who left before her, really will be too hard... and other than a rap speak, what other excuse will I have to go up there in the near future? And Dave will be there; that does add some additional importance. (I still hope I can disclaim the misinformation he was given before that night...) In some ways, though, the main reason is that it's a vigil - and I don't have a lot of details, but Rogers is such a sacred place to me, in my story, that this seems fantastically fitting. And it's not exactly discouraging to think that, with something that important going on, I probably won't be the only being with tears in my eyes (and on my cheeks, and scattering about.) One additional obstacle is that I know my mom has to work on the 17th; I think she has to facilitate a meeting of one of her groups. I don't know that she'll be able to or interested in backing out or moving that. Which means if I want to go, I'll probably be going with my dad. And I love my dad, and it'd be good for us to spend some real time together, but it is more stressful to imagine it that way. Then again, which of my parents would happily watch me cry at once again being home, when it's not the home they want me to claim? My mom's rather fragile now, too, so maybe it's better not to go with her - but I do feel like I can lean on her more, even though she's having a hard time right now. Then again, my dad really comes through with things like this sometimes; he always told me he'd take me back to visit whenever I wanted, and (I'm assuming it's a vigil for the people we've lost) he's really (religiously) spiritual and openhearted. The tone of his voice when he said how sorry he was, to hear about Dixie, a name he really did know and remember, brought tears to my eyes. So, it's possible. What's a couple of rough road stops to seize this opportunity? That is, unless one of you lovely folk feels like taking a road trip to rural Wisconsin. Hey? Hey?
I still haven't gotten to that point where I tell my parents about this and that I want to go. A problem (somewhat), as it's just over two weeks away. ...Two weeks. It's funny how things can change when I feel that it's necessary. My mom asked me if I could give her any input on plans to visit my brother in Nashville to celebrate his birthday (which is today - happy birthday, Joe!) - either this weekend or the weekend of the 24th. Just to have her ask me felt overwhelming; I hadn't the slightest idea what I would be able to handle at the end of this week, or in three weeks. (I feel now like I could go this weekend, but I think we're waiting until three weeks. And I think I might be able - knock some serious wood - to go then. It's just going to be a weekend or something, and the last time we went was ok. So, hopefully, I'll pull it off.) But I wasn't feeling like I could know that earlier this week. Now, I feel like I'm ready to make a committment (once I know the details and confirm that I truly want to go) to do this trip on the 17th, and I'm calm, thinking rationally and logistically. I don't know how to take that: me, calm? I think I'm just settled on how much I want it, and how certain I feel (at least now) that it's right. And in some ways, I've already lowered the stakes (all those trips to the mailbox and out into the Real World, if only for a half-hour, paying off) by truly taking in that I can't prepare myself for this. I have plans to make, but I can't possibly predict the experience itself, and so I really just have to go with the understanding that I'll do what I need to, to take care of myself, and not have high expectations. For one, I don't have to act like this is the last time I'll ever see Wisconsin. It's not. And it might not even be the last time I see Rogers; who knows what'll come up over the next few months, especially with Sara there? So, I don't need to try and do too much at once. I can plan simply and flexibly and take care of my own needs.
First need: a ride. I did ask my mom (just now) and she said she needed to think about it; I know how uncertain she is, especially with funds stretched so thin here. I'm ok with her telling me no (I think), but I hope she'll let me know soon (maybe tomorrow?), so that I can ask my dad, hopefully before he's scheduled appointments for that day. But then, his schedule's more flexible. He might try and reschedule a few appointments for me, just this one time. I know he hates to miss work, but he loves to take care of me...so we'll see. And then Friday, of course, I must mention it to the doc. So we talk about it, if not then, at some point over the next few weeks. And we need to talk about how to go about contacting Dave, keeping in mind that I want that contact made - if at all possible - before I potentially see him. This is going to be an emotional Olympics, but damn if I'm not set on doing it. Mary Brave: emotional Olympian. Mary Brave conquers the universe. (Or at least Wisconsin.)
Oh, what am I talking about. I could never conquer Wisconsin. I'm entirely in service to Wisconsin, kissing its ground. It's the snag in my Empress of the Universe campaign.
I had a "corrective experience" yesterday; hee hee. Silje called me! I was completely floored; I was on the couch, exhausted, reading, at the time, and I felt really flustered, but once we started talking, it was - just like I said about Sara's message - so easy to remember that this is someone who loves me, and it's safe, and it's wonderful, that I just felt great. I was a little lost when she asked what I'm up to, but for once, I don't think I was so much avoiding discussing my own life as I was truly lacking in stories of recent activity. Or if I was avoiding talking about myself, it was because I wanted to hear what was up with her, stay away from the tragedies of my life, and just have a nice conversation. (We did talk some about tragedies - Dixie, Jessie,^ and Tracy, which got rather difficult; I might have needed to stop that before it naturally transitioned. But I survived, and I did my best at the time.) Silje's doing well; she's taking the news rather hard, of course, but she's still rocking her recovery in a way that makes me widen my eyes and applaud. She has a new job staying with an 8-yr-old while his mom is away with work. (Which is often - his mom's a flight attendent.) She's so perfect for this job that her friends tease her about it. They tell her she's "such a mom" - and it's true. She flips out when he's not home on time, she calls him "her pride and joy", she's even going to a parent/ teacher conference! I love it. I love that this little boy and his mom know what a good woman they've found; they both adore having her, which is an example of life being as it should for once. Yeay.
And she told me I'm one of the bravest people she knows. (Aiy!) There was some weirdness again about the age-difference, (but I've decided that's her thing, and it's mainly just that she's so inclined to protect me like an older sister would). She said something about how I'm so young and no one my age should have to go through what I have. I pointed out that no one any age should have to go through this, and that I could make the same statement to her; the things she's been through are more than anyone should have to bear. But you're so young! Ok. She also means it as a compliment because she has so few friends who are younger, especially so much younger as me. (She said, "I was in first grade the year you were born." And I instantly thought of a first-grade-Silje, giggled at her cuteness, and talked about how great that was... and how it's hardly, "I was in high school" or "college" when you were born. But then, it's not exceptional for me to have relationships with people older than I am, so...) She says it shows how mature I am, which is swell and all, as long as I can be a silly goofball of dorkishness at the same time. Which we've proven I can. And I can also continue to work at experiencing some of what I missed as a younger kid and teen. Speaking of which, how's this for an accomplishment? I want a phone! Isn't that hilarious? I want one of my own, that people will call only because they want to talk to me, and I want to buy some silly cover for it that makes it clear this is Mary's phone. If I weren't so stunned at wanting it, I'd laugh. How very typically teenage of me... and what's better - how bizarre given my propensity to hide under the bed when the phone rings! (Ok, I store things under my bed now. So I actually haven't done that in awhile.)
Oh, but, back with the lovely Silje call... she told me the most wonderful story, which she actually read in an e-mail forward. She wasn't sure of the source; I think her guess was Leo Biscaglia, and one can never quite trust the credibility of e-mail forwards, but anyway, the story went like this: Leo was asked to pick the most caring child from all sorts of candidates. (Stupid competition where it shouldn't be. But Leo didn't have a problem with that part of it, or if he did, he managed to set it aside long enough to choose, and this is the story of the boy who won.) The boy who won was a young child whose next-door-neighbor was an older man, who had just lost his wife. Not many people were around for the man, but this little boy crossed his yard and went into his house, not coming home until hours afterward. When he did return, his mom asked, "What did you say to him?" - just unable to fathom a guess. And the little boy replied, "I didn't say anything. I just sat on his lap and helped him cry."
Yeah. I almost started bawling right there on the phone. Instead, I said, "That's so beautiful. That's so beautiful. That's like what we did at Rogers." (Of course. Everything wonderful is like what we did at Rogers.) "We helped each other cry." I could hear Silje smiling. "Well, that's some of what we did," I ammended.
"We helped each other laugh, too," she said, and just at the truth, at the general memory, we started laughing together. I didn't stop to remember just what our jokes were, only that we had them. And we laughed together, even though the godds have placed us on opposite sides of the freaking Atlantic. (And I used to be upset when I had to sit on a different side of the classroom than my friends.)
It's been a quieter, peaceful day, and the sadness has softened a little. I forget I'm grieving, and it's something to keep in mind. I'm missing my grandma a lot, on top of losing Dixie. The approaching opportunity in April will also bring up grief. I want to write and draw and journal all around it, gather my strong experiences, my beautiful memories and feelings and everything else again. I want to start, I mean. Swimming into that again. I want to breathe the sweetest, softest air.
~me
^I'm not sure if I've mentioned Jessie here before. Jessie was this marvelous comedian from first floor, who I knew by sight, but not in a real relationship. I actually saw a girl on the sidewalk a few weeks ago who looked a great deal like Jessie, and after it struck me how cool that was, I remembered that Jessie, too, has died. And now, I'm haunted by the girl on the sidewalk as much as I am grateful for her. It's a different sort of loss for me, but it still...strikes me speechless. And all I can do is remember, live, talk, and hope with all I am that she found peace.