To say she was my friend dishonors friendship, and it dishonors her. She was beautiful, full of life. A big smile on her face every time I saw her. I watched her withering away through facebook over the past few years as she battled illness. I saw more and more the energy not of her, but of cancer. Her death was a stark reminder that no one leaves this life alive. When I think of her now, living with her creator, she is framed in love and light. I cannot try to imagine the loss her family feels. Her husband lost his best friend, and there is nothing she can do about it. I've heard the wisest of them all say..."Be gentle with yourself. The first year, you're numb. The second year hurts worse than the first. After 8 years, you finally see the benefit in living again...."
I believe it.
I think of her and those like her each time I sit down to the computer to write. I see my former patients. I feel the energy of those dying or dead. I think of the words I want echoing in my children's ears long after I've transitioned. What would I want them to know about me? What do I want to make sure is revealed that currently lives inside my heart so that I don't die with my music still inside me? How do I make sure my children can hear my voice long after I've left this beautiful earth? In their darkest hour, I want them to know that I am here, my energy lives. They are not alone. There is no such thing as a mistake.
The first time I married, it was about my father. I don't know why or how I devised this plan, but I know it has something to do with my dad. Deep down, I think I was looking for someone to father me. I remember in college...my first time in college...I had conjured up a plan in my head. It was a smart plan, and I was super proud of it. It went something like this...get the hell out of your hometown. Get your shit together before you get married. Find a kind, responsible man who has his shit together. Get married, get a house, and get a nest egg before you get pregnant. And, that's what I did, all the way up to the getting pregnant part. I had it going, I really did. I had an amazing man who loved me, he was kind to me. He was a compassionate soul who treated his mother well. But, something was missing. Instead of getting pregnant, I got an itch. After awhile, the kindness of his generosity started to feel stifling, and I don't know why, except that it must've been me. Some sort of wanderlust existed inside of me, some sort of lesson required learning...a treacherous climb, a plummeting fall. I needed grit. One day, much to his pain and my surprise, off I went to seek it out. I lamented for a long time over this, until one day I realized that I really did him a favor. That doesn't excuse my behavior. I still think of him often, what a kind soul he is....what a generous person and great father he must be. When I think of him, I think of him with gratitude.
The second time I married, it was about my mother. I didn't know this when I married, I just knew that while everything was wrong, something about meeting him felt incredibly right. I got pregnant before we got married, and I think that if I'd have never gotten pregnant, it's highly possible that the relationship would not have lasted. So I got pregnant, I had a child, then we got married, then we got a house. Well...a condo. We never got that nest egg. We sold the house and moved back to my hometown with a kid and a baby, a little bit of money, and no jobs. We went to school. Both of us. Two adults in college with two kids and no jobs and no home and no nest egg living with my parents. It wasn't until after a year or so of therapy I realized that I'd been trying to save someone who didn't want to be saved, the way I desperately wanted to save my mom when I was a little girl. That's a terrible form of control and judgement on my part...trying to fix one person because you couldn't fix another....and he didn't want fixing. The kindest thing I could do for him was to release him from this obligation that he so obviously did not want...to allow him to go be him while I continued to find me. I still think of him often, what a sour soul he is...how he was my greatest teacher. I couldn't have learned the lessons I'd learned if it wasn't for him. When I think of him, I think of him with gratitude.
Of all of the stories of the bible, the story of the prodigal son is one of my favorites. A young, stupid man decides to ask for his inheritance long before his father has died. While his father remains alive, the prodigal son sets out and leaves his home, squandering this wealth. He eventually finds himself starving and destitute, living among the pigs, wishing he could eat the food he was feeding to the swine. One day, finally, after being beaten down by the consequences of his poor decisions, he decides to return home. He is changed. He is not the same man who left years before. The weather and the road and the exposure he has suffered have changed him, hardened him while at the same time softening him. He is no longer arrogant. He is no longer indecent, self absorbed, or entitled. Instead, he is learned, a man confident enough to be vulnerable. He has found gratitude. He would not have become this man without the road of the prodigal. The treacherous road of the lost was also the road of the found.
There is no such thing as a mistake.
Tomorrow, I weigh in. At my gym. With a trainer. She's taking my measurements and putting me on a scale with a workout plan and an eating strategy. I've been here before...on the eve of the first day of my transformation. I'm incredibly sad, even though I know completely that these are first world problems and I have nothing to be sad about. I've drank my last drops of alcohol for the next six months, and binge-ate food that I don't even like just because I know they will be off the docket for the time being. The idea of giving up wine and carbohydrates has me feeling mournful. I hate the idea of putting myself this far out of balance, to create this much of a deficit to get the outcome I desire. But, it feels right. It feels like the right decision at this time, even though I feel sad about it. This time, it's about fitting into a wedding dress. Yes, a wedding dress. I hear the jokes rise up inside of me, the shame I can allow myself to feel knowing that I make an amazing wife, but I've yet to prove that.
This dress I will be wearing in June, when I proclaim vows to a man who possesses the sweetness that delights me while also having the saltiness and that keeps me interested. He provides the gruff direction that I am drawn to, while at the same time bringing me coffee just like I like it. The world gets to see his hard exterior while there are parts of his kind, generous heart that are only reserved for his most intimate relationships. I am honored that I am part of that circle, that policy of truth. I believe he feels the same, grateful to be with someone who is direct, loving, nurturing, and confidently vulnerable. He has taught me how to live without regret, how to rid myself of shame...how sometimes what looks like a mistake is really a door closing to a life you thought was yours, but now realize is no longer. If we'd have met before the prodigal road, we would probably have been two ships passing in the night. We both had lessons to learn before the time was right for us to meet. I cannot hate the road I traveled whilst at the same time liking the destination where I've found myself. It doesn't work that way. One is a product of the other.
If there is one thing I've learned from the prodigal road that I want to echo in my children's souls after I'm gone, it is this...in everything, have gratitude. My sweet loves, be grateful when the journey is light for your burden is soft. Your foot treads lightly, and there is a time for joy, for dancing, for abundance. We can keep great company and allow the tears of joy to flow. Be also most grateful when we are in the midst of the dark night of the soul. It feels like the place of the lost because it is. It feels like we are among the swine because we are. It is nothing more than a doorway, a moment in time that can extend for as long as we need it to where we learn to look inward for guidance, to trust our heart to illuminate our path. Close your eyes, you will see better. Feel your way to it. Be grateful for the people offering you the most pain, for they are your greatest teachers. It is not through them, but because of them, that we are somehow able to become resourceful, locating the tools we need for maturity, opening our hearts up to what is waiting for us. If you must experience this hard, difficult road to soften your soil so that you are ripe for planting, then pay attention to it. Feel it. Be lost. It is your doorway to being found.
There is no such thing as a mistake.
I write these words to my children, and to myself. Between candy wrappers and the last bits of rum, I procrastinate going to sleep knowing the difficult path that lies ahead tomorrow.
Soldier on, prodigal. See you in June.