My first death was my grandfather. I was never prepared that he might die, never explained to about what a funeral was or how to act. My father said, "Don't cry because you'll make me cry." Being a dutiful daddy's girl, I choked down my tears. I was 11 years old.
I remember, a few years later, crying when a puppy of ours died. My older sister and her friend made fun of me. That made me feel weak. It began a life of making myself hard or at least showing the world that.
In high school I would go to movies with my girlfriends, it would be a tear jerker and all my friends would be crying. I would mock them. I wasn't girly, I wasn't going to cry.
When I was 19, my dad, wept on the couch as he explained the pain he felt having to be the one to end grandma's life, to unplug the machine. He shielded his face from me, so I wouldn't see the tears fall. I reached out for him but I didn't weep with him. I ADORED my grandmother, but I never wept for her. Heartache after heartache in my life, I managed to stifle the tears.
I just ended a very sad marriage, last September. It was a mistake, I knew that after 6 months of marriage but was already pregnant with our daughter and vowed to 'stick it out.' The last 10 years were especially empty and cold. We were only roomates. Never fought in front of the children but never really spoke to each other either. One day my daughter said, "Did you and dad ever hold hands?" Turned my stomach. I had managed to stay together 'for the kids' and proudly showed them exactly HOW a marriage shouldn't be. Still, I packed my bags and left without a tear.
I couldn't help but cry when my dog, GeezeMoe died. Even my dad couldn't stop that. Moe was just to dang loving of a dog. The kind of dog personality that cat lovers mock. Not at all a guardian dog but the kind of dog that runs into the screen when the slider door is open and makes a shocked face of misunderstanding. Or the kind of dog that would run into the coffee table, flip it over and everything off it on his way to greet you - as you return from the bathroom. His tongue ALWAYS out five inches, he was just a good dog and totally full of love. I did weep for that.
Tears came when my dad went into hospice. Tears flowed as I stood in the snow, staring up at the snowflakes shooting down in the night, like pictures of light speed, the night I told him he could go, it was time. But all out crying, no. The day of the funeral I knew it was going to come but had NO idea of the force of it. I had NO control, none.I could NOT stop crying. I made noise. ME the mouthy daughter. The one who sassed the assistant principal. The fearless one. daddy's favorite - uncontrollable guttural crying for the entire funeral.
I think, if I had not lost Moe just weeks before, it wouldn't have happened. I need to mourn my dad, mourn him hard. I had a terrible January, Moe died, my van broke down and eventually was junked and then dad. It was too much but it had to be or I would have fought it. In the past I have appeared cold to the world because of a promise, the promise of a little girl, to her daddy, that I wouldn't cry. He was gone. I didn't have to hold the promise anymore. Hell, I'm weeping now as I write this down.
I know what it's like to have a parent close off to you and how that feels. (my mom was the cold parent) I know what it was like as a kid, to shut off that part of you that gives a damn, just so it doesn't hurt. I have done that for years. That's how I have survived siblings warring with me, ex-bestfriends who steal my boyfriend and ultimately the end of a cold, empty marriage to a man I had adored. A man who broke our trust and my heart. I took the fall, the kids don't know why I left him and neither does my family. Didn't do it to protect him but my children. They will find out soon enough who their dad is, in the meantime, I look like mom who packed her bags and went on vacation.
But losing Moe, allowed me to grieve. I had no choice. He meant too much to me and I still needed him, but he had to go. I even told Moe it was ok. When I looked in his eyes, two days before he died, I told him he was a good dog and if he was tired he could go. As I stood in the snow, that cold January night, after telling my dad he'd fought the good fight, I realized that Moe was practice for the words I HAD to give my dad. I had to let him know he could/should go. Just like with Moe, I wasn't really ready and never would be.
I have spent so many years burying feelings so it wouldn't hurt when they weren't returned, that I was beginning to feel like I wouldn't love again. I have gone on some dates with some real nice guys, some very nice looking guys, and kinda was meh, about the whole thing. I was concerned that I didn't really care to date. I was being told by people that 'it took time' 'you just got divorced, you need time to find yourself.' Um, no, I'm 50 years old, pretty sure I know myself. They didn't understand what it was like to lock off your heart to protect it from being broken. But when your dealing with SO many emotional issues, you can't hold that lock on manually and I found out, without my hand on the lock, it slipped, just a little.
I had a moment last night with a guy I have been dating for a few months. I have thought for some time that I must be sending him mixed signals. I'm so 'odd' around him. I used to be the kinda girl to hold his hand, slip my arm around him while we are making dinner, slide both arms around him while standing on the deck looking at stars. I'm not this time....I will respond in kind when he touches me but I won't touch first, I won't let myself melt. Aware of this, I was annoying myself and trying to diagnose my own issues. Well, yes, it was obvious, I wasn't ready. I didn't feel it and didn't know why and well, duh, because I was holding that lock on with both hands. Let go to stroke his hair and that lock would/could slip a notch. I kept thinking 'well, he's nice but there's no butterflies or bells so maybe this is just gonna be a friendship, yada yada yada." But that moment, last night, that I allowed that lock to slip, just a notch, I felt that twinge in my heart, that skip you get when your in love and your happy with that person...just a twinge of it, but I recognized that feeling and enjoyed the high that went with it.
I'm way more practical now then I was at 26 when I fell madly in love with my ex. I was thinking I'll never feel that kinda love again, and really, I guess I'm right because at 26 I was wearing love blinders and the blinders are off. But the lock is coming off as well, slowly but there's no rush....can't help but think that Moe helped me with that too because he was my only love for several years...gawd I need another dog,lol.
I just came from a wake, a true in the garage drinking beer wake, a celebration of a man's 87 years on this earth and honoring his dying wish, NO funeral, a party in the garage. He died in front of the tv, watching his beloved Tigers playing ball. Had me thinking of my dad and of Moe and well, and feeling a kinda melancholy today. Well, not really a melancholy but mixed emotions. Like when you take care of a wounded bird. When it's well, you want to release it back into the wild but you've grown attached to it. But there comes a time to release it. You are sad you've let it go but your feel very good about setting it free. Moe help me set my heart free. Dogs are amazing that way.
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”
C.S. Lewis
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeW0Sl0tNS8&ob=av2e
