One Hundred Happy Days- Day Four

Walking on the Winter Beach

Yesterday I walked along Far Rockawy Beach before work. I was searching for peace and a quiet place to think. During this time of year there barely any people walking on the beach. Those that I happened to see here, were lost in thoughts of their own or hypnotized by the view. 

The ocean was a dark, turbulent wash of gray and green. Waves clung to the edges of the shore, blanketing in foaming blankets of white. The sky above was the color of steel. Everything was quiet. Silence settled upon me. It was the kind that made everything become still; the kind that eased the worries of the heart, lifting it then letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean's impenetrable depths. The kind that also allowed those worries to float away into the horizon. The silence resembled a kind of hope. We push our wishes into the unknown, praying that whatever comes brings us joy and blessings. We take those hopes and let them go, allowing them to sink or float. 

I watched the water and thought of my father. I remembered his silhouette by the shore at Coney Island as my little sister and I collected shells to paint. I asked his memory, "are there oceans where you are? Do you swim?" Looking at a piece of sea foam shatter in the air, I thought, "do you fly?" I let the silence cover me. I let my hopes float along the horizon and my tears fall until they became too cold to permit and I wiped them away. I watched the sea. A lone surfer braved the waves, his bright blue board a bright contrast to the mute day. 

I walked along the empty Boardwalk and felt lifted. Seagulls rose in the air above me, gliding and swooping with the currents of the wind. A flock of pigeons joined their flight, weaving past the seagulls.  Wings filled the sky.  My heart soared with them. I felt weightless. I felt lifted. I felt happy. 

Dad.

Today marks ten years since my father's passing.

It's such a strange thing, remembering the moment my world shattered. It was already fragile enough and his death just pushed it past the edge. It amplified my loneliness, my neediness, my desire to be cut off from the world. I wanted comfort and nothing. My life was, at that moment, a series of chaotic dichotomies. I did not know who I was or where I belonged anymore. All I knew was that he was gone and I was still here and the world was still spinning and it all felt very cruel to me. Like a joke gone horribly wrong. I mourned outwardly for years. Now I just mourn in my heart, in the dark when the world is silent and there's nothing else to think about other than the fact that he is gone.

I think about him everyday. I try to tell myself that I don't, but I do. It will come up as a reminder. Daddy. And then my mind will stir and recall his face and it will cast itself before me like a spell that endlessly repeats itself. I try to tell myself that as the years go by, I'm healing. But I'm not. The hole is still there and will always be. I've just learned to cover it with beautiful things, things that will camouflage how deeply it hurts to lose someone you love. I think that's why I seek out words. I think that's why I seek out the night. Both things are peaceful to me. It allows me to reflect and to cry without judgement.

There are certain things I remember about him, things that I will cling to my heart and never let go of. They are talismans that bound me to him, this man who has become only spirit. Meanwhile I'm trying to find my center again, my safety in such a spontaneous and unknown world. He left so suddenly and still…still there are remnants of him that I'm just now finding. It's like his death was an eruption and parts of him were tossed to different parts of my world, waiting to be found. I take those discoveries as a sign. A photo, a seashell, a song. Any of those. Everyone of those, are mine to reach to.

I want to believe that we are embodiments of light, that even as our shells disintegrate and merge with the earth, our light remains, indestructible. When I lay in the dark and recall his voice, I close my eyes and see sunshine. This is how I know he lived. This is how I know he loved me, this lonely child still grieving.

Gray days.

Today is a gray day. I woke up in a funk and it has continued to ferment inside of me. Days like these I want to cast myself off to a little island where the only inhabitant is me, sit in a warm sea of sand and let whatever comes, come. I want to give my emotions room to detach themselves from my body, float to the surface like little pools of oil in water and slowly, slowly, release me from this state of...

State of what?

Sadness? There's a hint of that there. Anger? A pinch of that is bubbling within me, sure. Despair? I don't know. I suppose it's a mixture of many things. I just want to let it out. Let it go. But maybe I should simply, let it be. Let it run its course through me and then evaporate. Morning mist breaking in the sunlight that is me, just a solitary ember glowing, rising. Or maybe I'm more likely the mist than the sun, cold little particles clouding up my vision, dispersing once a ray of light happens to shine upon it. 

I don't know. I'm just having a gray day. It will pass. I will give it time. 

A Glimpse of Spring

This winter has been like a dream that I'm sleepwalking through. It is all gray skies and slush and misery. I found myself being less enthusiastic, with less of a desire to get out and do something. But yesterday was the ray of sunshine piercing through the mist. The skies were blue, the weather mild and the sun was radiant. And for the first time in a long time I felt myself waking up. I walked straighter and with more energy. I smiled more. And every now and again I'd tilt my face up to the sky and catch the sunlight, amazed that it's here. 

I chose to visit my best friend and we went for a walk in her Brooklyn neighborhood. Sometimes in winter you forget that you have neighbors. You barely see them when you trudge home in the snow. Today however, people were out in full force. They had awakened, same as I did. And they were ready to soak in the sunshine. My friend and I walked and talked and joked. We smiled at little kids playing on the sidewalks. We sat and relaxed in the park. And all was well with the world. 

Then we saw the ice cream truck and things got better. 

It's crazy what a single change can do to a person. A little warmth, a little more sun and suddenly the world is a brighter place. It was only a single glimpse of spring in this still winter. But it was enough. And I am glad for it. 

The Solitary Act of Coping.

There is a pattern to my emotional coping. It goes like this:

Feel an overwhelming negative emotion. 

Shuts down. 

Stops contact with family and friends.

Removes self from the world.

Brood.

Hypothesize.

Accept.

Starts contact again.

Slowly reemerges back into the world. 

And the cycle continues. 

I'm not the kind of person who, when I'm feeling angry or sad, chooses to share my sadness or anger. I remove myself and I become solitary. I let my mind work out its response to the trigger of my emotions. I let my body come back to its plateau. Because when I feel those emotions the first thing my body does is tense up. I feel the anger radiate through me. Or the sadness squeeze my gut and dry my throat. The sensations take over and all that I am becomes angry or sad. My mind begins to replay the trigger events and I'm stuck in that moment. I can't get away from it. And so if a person were to interact with me all they'd get is the residue of my anger or sorrow. 

That's a lot to put on a person. 

Especially someone who I care about and who did nothing wrong. So I isolate myself until I feel like me again. For a long time I believed this was the way to function. I didn't even bother to look at it from the other standpoint. How can my friends, my family ever claim to know me if they don't really "know" me? Which is to say, how can they get a sense of who I am if every time something affects me negatively, I run away? I'm perfectly ok with seeing my friends angry or sad. In fact I make it my duty to try and help. I am the shoulder to cry on, the calm voice of reason and reassurance. I tell them that I'm there if they need me. And yet I would rather face the unpleasant parts of myself alone than let my loved ones do the same for me. 

I can argue and say that what I do is a sign of love. I'd rather deal with it alone than burden my friends. But what I'm really doing is alienating the people I care about at a time when I may need them the most. What I do is make them feel inadequate, unable to really understand me or my emotions because I am constantly pushing them away. I'm creating a barrier between my friends and myself. However thin that barrier may be, it's there and it affects the way I interact with them and how closely I let them into my lives. What I'm really doing is hiding my vulnerability. I don't want them to see me hurt. I don't want them to witness my rage. So I hide my feelings and ultimately I hide myself from those closest to me. 

This is an act of cowardice, not valor. I'm afraid the people I love won't like what they see. I'm afraid they'll see me at my most fragile moments and abandon me, unable to cope with my emotional state. I don't even take account of the fact that I've seen them in various emotional states and I care about them anyway. I just assume that I'm not good enough to stick around for. 

It's almost silly how the way I deal with other people doesn't seem to qualify for me. It's as if I view myself as a different species, not quite human, not quite important enough to fully love and accept. It's crazy how I push the people I care about away.  But I think just writing about this is a step in the right direction. I've been hiding too long. Posting my little grievances on my social media site is one thing. Letting someone I care about see me when I'm not all together is quite another. But I will do this. Because they trust me enough to let me see their tears. They trust me enough to let me in when they are at their worst. I should do the same. They are worth that much. They are worth so much more.