hello again
Tuesday, November 11, 2003 --  1:08pm
Posted by Bar


November 11, 2003

I don't know where to start, but there's a lot on my mind so I guess I'll
just begin.

I ran into someone I only know by name yesterday at the grocery store. Like
me, he was standing alone in a sort of fog trying to remember what he'd come
to the store for. The difference between him and me was that my cart was
full of things I didn't need while his was still completely empty. Anyway,
we said hello and then he asked if I had a minute. He wanted to thank me for
a concert I had organized early in October and to comment on an article that
was given out at that concert. The article is called "Turning to Job" and
was written primarily by novelist Gail Godwin who borrowed many of my
e-mails to weave in and out of her story. Our conversation led to his
telling me that he is a writer also and is working on his first novel.
Naturally we got to talking about writing - why we write, what works, what
doesn't, what causes blocks and what unblocks them. He asked me about these
e-mails and I told him I needed to write another one but was frustrated by
the changing nature of them. I told him that I don't have a pressing need to
write them anymore, but that I still have the need all the same. I told him
that before, when life with Forrest and Death and Cancer were in my face, my
emotions were raw and my thoughts were spontaneous. I had to write them down
and send them out.


Now things are entirely different. I still need community and an
opportunity to express my self, but these days I have time to reflect so my
mind gets all tangled up in things. Now I have to consider what's important
and what's not, or what would be meaningful and what would not. Lots of
times I think about writing an e-mail about this or that profound insight
only to decide that it's pretentious or contrived when I sit and try to form
the sentences. Most of the time I don't even get that far. I start composing
in my head and I decide pretty much immediately that it's not worth doing.
But like I told my friend yesterday, I still need to express my self so it
seemed fitting to write again today.

Maybe it's the change in seasons, maybe it's all this lunar and solar
activity in the heavens, maybe it's the upcoming holidays or a 2-year
anniversary ahead, but Peter and I have both moved into a new phase of grief
that has been particularly difficult. In my case, anger is finally rearing
its nasty head; for Peter it has to do with just plain missing Forrest. We
both feel particularly fragile and vulnerable and are learning to be even
more careful with one another.

On Wednesday morning last week I took our buddy Melodie to her Wednesday
morning activity helping in the local kindergarten class down the street. As
I approached the building with her, I realized that the class she was
helping with was the class that Forrest would have been in if he were still
around. It took me by  surprise and I was completely leveled.  As I looked
around and was introduced to all of his would-be friends, I was overwhelmed
by how much he would have loved it there. He would have loved those friends
and those little desks and the teacher and Melodie. I quickly left and wept
all the way back to my car. As I walked and cried I felt this odd
combination of wanting to get to my car unseen while wanting desperately for
some one to recognize my pain and come save me. Ultimately I got to my car
un-saved where I had a good exhausting cry before I managed to get myself
home.

I tell you all of this for a couple of reasons. Mostly because I want to
make sure you know how I really am. So many people have commented on or
expressed concern for my apparent strength. I guess I just want to dispel
any misconceptions floating around about that. I'm as shaky as the next
person who has lost someone that they love. I also share it because I
realized on Wednesday morning that there are times when it is important for
me to control my outward grief and that this was one of those times. As I
write this, I know that those kids - like all kids - have a deeper
understanding of things than we adults do, but the time was not right for me
to open myself up in front of strangers who were themselves the source of my
pain. My hope is that another opportunity will present itself and that they
will in fact reach out to me. Melodie comes every Tuesday night now, so
every Wednesday morning I will take her to that same classroom. And every
Wednesday morning it will get easier and easier except on the days when it
does not. And probably some day one of those kids will ask me if I have
children and in that moment I will decide how to answer them.

I feel as though I am learning to live in my own skin again and that this
sort of discomfort is part of my education. My fantasy is that I can watch
those kids grow up and be a part of their lives. Both Peter and I feel
considerable joy being involved with what might have been Forrest's life.
It's easy for us to feel the joy that he most certainly would have felt.

Now that I'm writing I feel as though I could go on and on. It's such a
relief to just sit and communicate again.

Thank you all for your patience, your kindness and your being there. I
apologize to those of you who have written in the last couple of months who
have not heard back from me. A few of those e-mails were late in arriving
but otherwise I just haven't had the wherewithal to write much of anything.
Nevertheless, I am very grateful for your letters.

Much love to you all for Thanksgiving and always,
Bar