A Pillar In The Sea

This blog entry has been a long time coming. Longer even than since Beckett’s death. Years in the making. I have often found writing to be the medium I am most comfortable in. It’s something I enjoy doing and feel comes naturally to me. So in that spirit, I have considered sharing my writing many times before. But until very recently in my life, I did not expect it to be set in to motion for the reasons it was. This is surprisingly difficult to begin. It sets a tone, a mood. But I have been down so many roads now that I know that once I begin, it will immediately become easier. The motion forward in and of itself is a reward and a relief. What do I want to say? There will be time to say many things, I remind myself. But what is the beginning conversation to have?

After Beckett’s death, a clear community emerged before me. The bereaved parent community. The club no one wants to join. A taboo, and an unthinkable hardship. Yet, this was just a small piece of the world my eyes were opened too. Because being a bereaved parent is a part of the bigger truth about loss. That it happens to literally everyone. That we will all die. That everyones time is short. I am not now a member of the bereavement community so much as the mankind community. We are all of us exposed to forfeiture. And we all seek knowledge for what has happened to those we have lost. While many find niches that suit them fine and bring them comfort, there is a huge population of us who do not feel we are “suited fine.” Who feel confused, and troubled. These are my kindred spirits now. And there are so many of us.

To them I say, consider this. We are all of us being carried forward by the current of life. A vast ocean, mighty and strong, that is pulling us along. And we are happy to be pulled along by it. This ocean is our families, our interests, our plans and obligations. What bereavement has introduced to my life is acknowledgment of feeling so deep within myself that I come to a screeching halt in the midst of this sea. There I am, in the center of the water, as it pushes against and around me. But I am a stone pillar. Silent and haunted and captivated and removed entirely from the ocean surrounding me. Eyes set on the sky. This moment is acknowledgment of the universe surrounding me. Not that it is aligning in my favor, but that I must make it right for myself.

Beckett is in these moments. Clarity of what has happened and what that means. A soul resounding sureness of his absence from the earth but a resilience to search for his existence elsewhere. It’s a moment of terror and a moment of bliss. When I was in the midst of what was happening to him in life, I didn’t have the courage to consider who I was praying too. Now in the face of his loss, I have no option but to seek that knowledge out extensively.

We are all capable of being the stone pillar. Because the moment we halt and look skyward, we look for something bigger. For a hint, for a clue. Sometimes we are just enjoying the beauty of it all. Or sometimes the devastation. It’s that heartache feeling, the crush, the lift. When you break, but you are so grateful for the chance to feel it. It seems like a fantasy, but it is the realest feeling you have ever actually had. My moments as the pillar come spontaneously. In the midst of life as it is happening, which it always is. Sometimes it leaves me better and sometimes it leaves me worse. But I am grateful for each and every one of the moments. They are when my eyes are the most open and I remember that when my bills are paid and when my dishes are clean, the question of “what” will continue to wrestle to and fro within my bones and wait to be answered. That I have an obligation to turn myself to that question. An investment in the stars if you will. Because someone I love lives there.

Beckett changed my life. He touches my mind and my lips daily. And he comes to tell me to look skyward. To remember that life is made of feelings. To have them. To feel entitled to your moments. To know that it is your right as a human being to stop and look and truly see, to truly seek. And this is my vow to take that right. As a bereaved parent, I have the right to demand my opportunity to stand still and look at the world around me and how beautiful and terrible it is. To ponder the universe. I will not look away. I will look and weep and break and hurt and love and hope. What’s truly sad is that we all have it within ourselves to do this and we should. I cannot impose these moments in to your life. All I can tell you is that I will enforce my claim to mine.

Thank you for sharing this with me. For taking this path with me. I want to explore loss, and all the people it touches. The door to the world was opened so much wider to me through Beckett, and I don’t want to let it close. I want to understand other’s journeys, and learn more about mine. I don’t know where I am going, all I know is that I want to go. And that what resonates the most throughout me is love. Love so large and so encompassing it feels it certainly must burst forth. That it must break me in half. And I am glad to break.