A Candid Moment
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| a candid photo. |
There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not sad. At some point in the day, I'm overwhelmed, overcome by a wave of sadness, every s i n g l e day. It's a pain I have never known before, but that I have come to know very, very well. I know it too well. It accompanies me everywhere I go, in everything I do. It's rooted down deep, but also reaches the surface, just below the surface so that anything at any time can come across it and set it off, like a hidden landmine. There isn't a place where it resides, because it's with me everywhere, all the time. It comes in the oddest of places, there's no rhythm or rhyme. There's no "trigger" to set it off. It's can be sitting, waiting for a bus, sitting at church, enjoying a meal, walking through an art gallery, dancing in a club. It's anything and everything, simply because they're not here, they're there. It's a pain that I, now realize, only comes when you love something or someone(s) more than yourself.
I miss my children. I miss them every single day.
It won't go away. It hasn't gone away. I've gotten "better" though at moving through it. I can't control everything or change everything the way I'd like to, but I combat these crashing waves by learning to settle and control what I can. Sometimes it helps to stand a little taller, to straighten my posture, or maybe it's about relaxing my shoulders, broaden my chest a couple nanometers, pinning my shoulders back ever so slightly. Sometimes it's folding my clothes that have been on the floor or bed or hanging up some shirts back on a hanger. Maybe it's taking a breath and focusing on the slow sound of the exhale. Maybe it's me fixing my shirt or choosing to wear and tie that day or making my bed nice in the morning. Sometimes it's putting my foot in front of the other, walking. Maybe it's taking a half step slower and looking up. Often it's sending waves of power to my kids, sending them love and encouragement from afar. I choose to believe that matters and that they feel it. I know they do.
I wish I could do more, but I can't, and that makes me sad too.
All too fucking often I get, "Well, where are they, Mike?" "Charlottesville, VA," I reply. "Oh, that's not too far. It's only a drive away," I smile, but really I'm thinking, "God, you don't understand." I just want to say, "Please, just shut up" and walk away, but of course, I grin, nod and bare it. Yes, they're not forever ways away, but that's not it. It's the things I like to call "the connecting moments" of their lives that I'm missing and want to be a part of. Things like their school, the people they see every day, the classrooms, the lunchroom, who's at the lunch tables, who are the lunch ladies, the hallways they walk down, the streets they drive down, the places along the way, the waking moments in the morning, the resting moments at night, the practice fields. These mundane practices and routines are the connecting moments of their lives. But it's not just these. I miss them too. I miss everything about them. I'm better when they're near and I truly believe they feel better too. We just do well together. It's like breathing...when breathing is easy, of course.
I could go on in greater detail, about everything. But this isn't meant to be a memoir. Sometimes, it's stuff like this, that helps me not be sad for a brief moment. But, it is always just a brief moment.
This one is hard for me to write because I don't want to talk about it. I don't have any bandwidth for other people's advice-giving, because to me, as well-intended as it may be, it's all triggers. But I am sad, and I also don't give a fuck what you think. This is my story, it's my feelings. This is my first amendment blogger space to say what I want, how I want. If I want to say, "Lick my mother fucking ball sack" then I'll say lick my mother fucking ball sack. If I want to say, "I am sad" then I will say I am sad.
I am sad.
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