When life goes down
It. Goes. Down.
It doesn’t wait for the social engagements you’ve got going to pass.
It may not allow you to breathe in the communal air you’ve come to rely
upon.
It definitely won’t allow you to keep up with all the things you’ve so
reliably kept up with for years.
It. Goes. Down.
In the initial aftermath,
you are a celebrity of sorts,
the latest fashionable tragedy
around whom so many flock.
The paparazzi stalks you,
if only to say they were there
and, yes, to truly love and support you.
In the beginning, that is.
The outpouring is sincere,
true, and heartfelt.
People want to help and knowing nothing can
fill the gaping void left by death,
they show up in pairs and trios to
make coffee, bring casseroles,
attend the funeral, and
keep you in their thoughts and prayers.
When life goes down,
it is human nature to
try to get back to normal
not realizing, or forgetting,
that with each addition or subtraction of a person
in your life, there is no going back.
That normal is gone.
Finding the new normal is the trick
and it takes some time to figure this out.
Hell, it takes some time to even remember to breathe,
let alone breathe naturally.
In and out and in again.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
You try to keep up.
You try to stay in touch.
You try by scraping together a costume
and showing up at a Village party
a mere week and a day after
you’ve lost your lifelong friend
and you are so numb you’re probably
not safe enough to drive to the party
let alone get home after a glass of wine.
But you try.
When you’ve lost your lifelong friend
and your children have lost one of their parents,
you just can’t.
Keep up.
Stay in touch.
at least not like you used to.
So instead of a costume of a pirate in a corset,
your costume is the smile
you duct tape on your face each morning
to keep the children from being too afraid.
The priorities have shifted dramatically
and some days, just getting out of bed
and putting on that brave face is a victory.
As time passes,
when the obituary has been forgotten,
and life has, in theory,
gone back to normal,
the Village, the whirling and swirling of the until-death-do-us-part Village
that you knew, just knew, you
could count on forever
can get mighty quiet.
You see, their priorities have shifted dramatically, too,
and the parties have gone on.
In spite of your super human efforts
to show up when you can,
you lose touch
and another form of grieving begins.
Like an absence from church is noted as a betrayal of sorts
she fell away,
she lost the faith,
she wasn’t as committed as we thought
so, too, is an absence from a party.
Jesus turned water into wine
and I imagine he could have turned my tears
into an ocean of wine,
had I made an appearance,
but I could barely get dressed,
barely keep the laundry done,
barely keep get the groceries from the car to the kitchen,
barely keep my job going and growing
…because it is all on me now.
It was beyond my ability to ask
for help even from the warmest of friends
let alone the cold shoulders I started noticing
particularly since my life had become
anything but a good time wine-down
for a while.
Here’s the thing, though,
As hurt as I may be, I can’t judge
for I am certain I have done the same in
the course of my fifty years on this earth.
I am convinced I have passed over someone who needed me to reach out
just one more time.
I know I have forgotten someone I once held near and dear
because my life was busy, I was distracted,
and I forgot to call, text, respond.
I believe deep down, I felt at least a little betrayed
because they weren’t there for me in the way they once were
simply because life went down for them.
I felt hurt or abandoned or devalued
because they couldn’t even remember to breathe
in and out and in again
let alone do their part to sustain our connection
because life went down for them.
In this, I am ashamed.
Because it is during precisely those times
they needed me most.
Next time, though, I’ll know
and will do better.
In this, I am thankful
Thank you, Village, for the roots and blessons I was given.
You are loved.
~ Mk Michaels, 2014
