A very full couple of weeks filled with both life and death, leaving me gasping for air, trying to remain present and authentic. Authenticity remains difficult for me, allowing myself to grieve when I need to grieve and not try to cover it all up with smiles and “I’m fine.” This is my first experience, outside grieving the adult persona I’ve left behind, where I am faced with death, the possibility of new life, transition, and serious, unchangeable change. Not to say I haven’t been living this past year and some months, but I certainly haven’t been dealing with death, not as I am now.
New job opportunities have arisen, for both my father and myself, and while his job is more profitable than my own, filled with wonder and excitement, both are steady sturdy roads leading to the future. I am a hostess at a little restaurant, and he is moving to Africa to oversee the creation of a giant plant for the company that has employed him for the past 35 years. My job is a temporary stepping stone to the next portion of my life~ the proposal goes out to publishers this coming week, very exciting news… and his is a temporary stepping stone to the next portion of his life, which is retirement. I can’t help but feel some loss though, perhaps selfishly, because he and I have only begun developing our relationship and his move to the other side of the world leaves me with conflicting feelings. I am excited for his upcoming adventure. But I want him here. Where I can hug him. Any time I want. I feel we’ve a ton of making up to do, and while I know we have plenty of time to do this, and now because of his incredible new adventure we will be able to spend quality time in areas of the earth we would have never considered, I still want to be able to hop on a two hour flight and see my dad. With his sand toys and his smile. I suppose a 15 hr plus plane ride won’t make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. That is the way life goes I suppose.
I had been holding back on writing an amends letter to an old girlfriend of mine, she and I have been friends since we were 10 years old, have seen good times and bad, and a few years ago, after a brief stint of living together and that togetherness shattering to pieces, we haven’t spoken in 3 years. I no longer had any resentments toward her, more fear of her resentments toward me. So I never reached out. She dreamt I died Tuesday night, dreamt that she had to come to LA and clean out my house and kept finding all these pictures of us from our youth, and couldn’t help but call me Wednesday. She got my number from another dear friend who’s remained neutral in the whole ordeal, bless him, and he told her he didn’t care if she told me he’d provided my new new new number. My habit of running makes me a very difficult person to find. Fortunately, she found me, we reconnected, and were able to start a dialogue. We didn’t talk about the big things, are saving that for a face to face time, but the connection was wonderful. She told me about her dream and I couldn’t help but cry because the thought of losing a friend and having unfinished business hit me at my core. I’ve left many people in my life, some wide eyed and some in their sleep.
Thursday morning I woke to Bleeze and 10 calls before 8am. He never blows my phone up, usually sleeps till noon so I knew something was wrong. Our friend Jordan Anderson, The Fish (because he loves the ocean and we had a hard time removing him from it), had died early Thursday morning, was pronounced dead at 2:55am, he’d fallen off his third or fourth story roof after a night out at the bars. He was with our friends at the time of his death, my friends actually saw him fall, and I can’t wrap my head around the grief they must be experiencing. I remain at a comfortable distance, down in LA when all this is happening in SF. I spent Thursday crying, went to work Thursday night to stay busy and be of hostess-ey service, but Friday was filled with tears and snuggle time on the couch, and mindless babble from a mindless television. Anything to shut it all off. I am trying with all my might to allow tears to fall, to let the loss pass through me as it wishes to flow, but it is so fucking hard to just be. To just accept. I change songs when it touches too close. I change the channel when it reminds me of him. Only a few days have passed, and while I’ve cried more than I have for friends in the past, I am still having a hard time letting myself grieve.
I am tired of my friends dying young.
So the journey continues this week. I have to find someone to cover my Saturday night shift which I’m positive they’ve given me, I want to make my way to the City and be with my friends. I feel hollow asking for the day off. I feel stupid asking people to cover for me. As if I don’t deserve to say goodbye. As if that is what a funeral is really about. And even though I have a solid program, and my very own higher power, I can’t help but feel lost about the insurmountable loss. He was just such a wonderful human being. I am so blessed to have known him. So maybe,….. maybe that’s the whole fucking point.
Merely that we are all blessed to be here. And to know each other.
Even if it is only for a few years, or moments.