arla

I'm here to speak about you.

where do I begin? I've grown to know you more in the last few months than I knew you in my lifetime. I've sat with you and listened to your stories, held your hand and looked into your beautiful blue eyes that have seen so much, cried with you. We sad goodbye so many times. We talked openly, nothing to lose, about life, fear, love, death. all of it. fearlessly. I've stroked your hands and forehead. unfurled your fingers in my hands, in life and then death. always in wonder of your soft skin. always in wonder of how many years your fierce body strode this earth, your strong voice burrowed into truth.

I remember being little. young. staying with you and grandpa overnight in clearwater. thunderstorms. I was always anxious. You taught me how to make flowers out of clay. I remember the rumble and shake of the train behind your house. sitting on the back porch, watching birds. I remember a summer sunset over the st. lawrence river, listening to the lapping of the waves from your cottage in Canada.

you shared stories. I only had to ask one question and you would unfold our family tree like a well worn book. You would sift through the pages of that book and paint full pictures of the people in our family. who married whom, who left whom, who died young, the favorite song of this person, or the peculiar habit of this person. You brought the years to life, inviting your listeners to taste the particular apple varieties that you loved so much (your time picking them fresh from the orchard when you were young). You smoothed the dust off of old ancestors who easily could have become names in a ledger. You animated them with their emotional storms and silences, their passions for books or theatre, their oppressions and their brilliant gifts. In the last few months, especially, you shared without edit or censorship, and offered the great gift of truth telling. I learned that our family is strong and petty and generous and smart, full of good choices, bad choices, questionable choices. they are adventurous and meek, kind and cruel, afraid and fearless, messy, flawed, and fallible. complicated and beautiful and human.

you were a force and you only grew stronger in your commitment to justice as you grew older. If you sensed or knew about anyone being treated poorly, or neglected, or taken advantage of, you rose to the cause and persisted until some resolution or repair was achieved. You'd use your voice and talk, call, write, whomever you needed to, and you'd keep talking.  You were stubborn and independent.

maybe the rain.

maybe the rain is here for me to remember to grieve.
that's a joke.
I don't need a reminder to grieve. but, I do need the rain.
I'm blanketed in grey; on the outside of life for the moment.
hungry for laughter and old friends that don't need introductions; people who know my story and I know theirs, so we start from the step we're on.
laughing or crying or just just...whatever will be.
I'm hungry for answers to the holes in my heart. the sniper fire that came from nowhere. I'm still searching the rooftops for the why.

my heart has been broken by the women I have loved the most. the sisters who have been invited into the sanctuary. the ones with invisible cloaks and hidden daggers.
I still spin round and round trying to pull the blade from the back of my heart, wondering why.
I am weary for the answers to why I was not loved.

the crone in me sees wisely.
the wound in others, the vast and crinkled darkness of their souls, could not conceal itself in the proximity of truth. we were too close and, so, too submerged in visibility.
the light must be shattered. without kindness or honor.

we were knitted together for over a decade, swapping tears, laughter, stories and hope. we built the barricades of protection for each other. we helped each other stand.
then, now, forever...
she betrayed everything with no words, no glance, no trail.
just dust. mist. vapor.
I hear her name today; a mutual is praising her for the support she gives, the lifeline she provides.
and my own abandonment breaks open and blood is spilling.
i'm downed and spiraling in aloneness.
trying to ward off the proclamations emerging from my insides: nobody likes you. you are not loveable. when people truly get to know you, they will leave you. you will never be loved the way you crave it. everyone will leave you and betray you. You are nothing.

and I know, crone speaking again, that somehow this can't be true. that no one being on this earth is any of those things. even the vilest of them all. and I am not vile.
I am not malicious or vengeful or harmful. I love. I am loyal. I am kind and, especially for those dear to me, I have the whole space of my heart to give.

or I did.

several losses later and the ship begins to sink.
I'm still kind and I still care but, only one or two have access to my heart and the private sanctuary of me anymore.
and this, to date, makes for a lot of loneliness.
I'm not included or very much celebrated anymore for my life by most people.
I'm falling and fading into nothingness. If I didn't go out into the world, there are only 3 people who might notice.
looking at it another way, that's something to be grateful for.
and, it's a mighty burden on those 3. and a fear of abandonment that I carry.