July 3, 2006
God must have created Red Bull.
[Three weeks before we close on the sale of our home and move to separate locations.]
Thank you for Red Bull, Lord.
OK, so I know this sounds a bit casual for my first entry, but I have made an important self discovery. One of the few places I find solace these days is at Borders with my quintet of new pals; a can of Red Bull, a highly recommended cheese-stuffed warm pretzel, a tall latte, my laptop and the stack of work that has piled up over the weeks. This is the kind of escape offering a few “energized” and “inspired” hours where I can escape the pain and loneliness. Being alone in our home during this time before the actual physical move and full-throttle “therapeutic separation” is rough. As an aside, the term “therapeutic” still makes me chuckle. What does that actually mean, anyway – blot tests, watching The Story of Us, ropes work, group hugs, Timothy Leary readings?
The idea of actual physical separation from Valerie is shattering. If I am not careful when I am alone in the house, I allow myself to wander in routine late afternoons, anticipating our typical evening. Then it hits me again. Menacing. Indelible. So, I look for places and moments to hide from the ache, where I can escape the faint whispers from lost conversations that bend through the hallway. I hear her soft giggling during phone calls. Her special little noises and expressions. Our kids going…coming…going…. Holidays. Intimacies. Yhatzee. Crackling fires. Seeing the Purple Bunting on the bird feeder that single day each summer. The August firework displays of lightning igniting the raven sky .
The screen of my mind went black.
I move in and out of these separating moments, images that punish as if being tied and quartered. Last night I thought it might be a good step towards reconciliation to share some dinner. I began with, “We won’t talk about the issues. We’ll leave those for our 1-hour weekly sessions with Jim (our counselor of ten years). Just an innocent steak, salad, maybe a potato and some light chatting.” Harmless. She responded, “As long as you don’t think this means we might not be going ahead with the separation.” Not a good plan.
The screen of my mind went black.
Instead, I bought a roasted chicken. Made two salads. Divided two portions. I left one plate behind in the kitchen. I took my plate on the bed tray and retreated to the bedroom, put on my headphones, and started the movie Coach Carter on my laptop. On the START menu, images of the film and menu options came onto the screen with the voice of Coach Carter asking, over and over, one question in the background: “What is your greatest fear?” “What is your greatest fear?”
The screen of my mind went black.
I remembered that there was one more can of Red Bull left in the refrigerator for tomorrow. I sighed. I fell asleep.
August 24, 2005
“Give it away.”
I struggle trying to capture and respond to the interactions I am having with Valerie. The familiar warmth that burns slowly blue in her eyes is absent. They are wintry. Vacant. Somewhere far away remain the remnants of wounds I inflicted; dishonor, mistrust, deceit. Their presence moans, haunting the surroundings like shivered wind peeling across the splinters of an abandoned home. Jim’s counsel is that I must allow these feelings to “live in me” as a part of the “wilderness process”. He says I don’t deserve warmth or understanding. So, the parasite burrows deeper. The ache spreads like an infection. The concept of losing my wife is tragic; the idea of losing my best friend is intolerable. Maybe that’s the point; that I need to be a man and seek forgiveness, loving her without expecting anything in return. As Jim has said from the beginning of the separation, “My wish for you both is that you go through this well. Wander. Experience. Trust faith. Then we’ll see if your faith has legs.”
It is difficult to hurt and trust at the same time.
Somewhere in the warm flesh of my emptiness, the parasite pauses, its belly full. And then it eats on.
To Consider for dialogue: 1. Can you think of a moment when that "gnaw" in your stomach joined you for dinner? How long before it bit did you know it was coming, and still let it in? Why do we do that???
2. Is this book segment offering a good length for once a week? Should each week's offering be longer?
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5 comments:
Brian, Thanks for sharing a bit of yourself and a reflection on the feelings of life. Gut stuff, transparent and probing in my life. Keep on. Your brother John
While you reflect on self, good to ask who your audience might be for this work... visualize them, take as you take them along for the journey.
Brevity is best for this reader. length as is.
First of all - agree with anonymous that the length is good.
Second of all - love the language you're using, so illustrative and evocative. It really helps to communicate the emotions you're talking about. Nicely done.
Finally - the gnaw in my stomach is a normal visitor of mine. I actually am experiencing it right now. My problem is that I don't have an identifiable reason for it today. It's just a normal day, no huge issues I'm dealing with. That seems to be my struggle of late - feeling the gnaw and not knowing its source. Not enjoyable.
The length feels comfortable - each segment leaves me wanting the next bit of the story. Responding to each comment and providing questions may grow quite an elaborate garden to tend - keep it manageable.
And, this question of atrophied emotions... Hauling numb emotional muscles off the Barco-lounger and into the Y is a tough proposal, and sometimes standing still and letting the emotions be is the most strenuous.
Even though I have read them before, your writings still draw me in. Similar to what sTiVo has already said, I think that your ability to weave together colorful descriptors of things that are tangible with very real and cutting emotions is powerful.
I think the length works well. Also, your second entry here is dated “2005” while the first is dated “2006.”
Forward in faith.
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