It's strange. My Dad has been dead for over two years now, but some days I feel closer to him now than I ever did when he was alive. And even stranger, in a lot of ways, our relationship hasn't changed much. When he was alive, we only talked every few months. Now... I feel like every few months he talks to me. Not in a creepy way, but in that he'll have a message that I need to hear. Tonight was one of those nights.
It's been a teary weekend. I sobbed last night. I just... snapped. While I was driving. I was completely overcome with despair. I pulled over and sobbed in the parking lot of Staples for a solid hour. I screamed. Not anything coherent, just a guttural cry of absolute hopelessness. An expression of the fear that was too deep for words. The cliffnotes version is this: I'm terrified that I will always be alone. And it broke me down to nothing. In a half an hour my strength was gone, I couldn't fight the gripping despair.
The OSM gave me some solid advice that I'm just beginning to understand. "Don't fight it," he said. "Don't give in either, but don't fight it. Ride it out." But I'm a fighter, it's the only way I've ever known to conquer my demons. Grit my teeth and be stronger than the despair, than the addiction, than the sorrow, than the confusion, than the temptations. Completely out of energy and not understanding how to do what he was telling me, I just went to bed. I woke up in tears. It wasn't over. I barely moved until 3:30 when the OSM made sure I was on my way to his place to help prepare for Sunday Funday.
At this point in the story I have to give a huge shout out to Morgasma, who is making her first appearance in the blog. At 4:15pm she made me laugh so hard my gut hurt. It was the first real laugh I'd had since Thursday. It was the first time I'd smiled, genuinely, in over 36 hours. But the despair was still there, still sapping every ounce of the enjoyment of life my friends could offer from my grasp. And then, almost unbelievably, it got worse. A part of my past I've tried very hard to forget found its way to the surface.
It was a night I never wanted to remember. I have no desire to go into any sort of detail, that night needs to stay locked away. That night is between the two of us and needs to stay that way, even if a very small detail got out tonight. The rest... is ours. Twisted as it may be, it's a shared intimacy of two very fucked up people who were incredibly self destructively but desperate to be understood, to be seen by someone who might understand. And as fucked up as that night was, there was understanding. I was seen. He was seen. And in a very, very twisted way, part of my heart will always be in that night, falling in love with him.
And because God really does work in mysterious ways, Morgasma and the OSM started listening to the song 'jump rope' by Blue October. And it was like I snapped, again, but this time for the better. I swear, though I know my Dad couldn't sing a note to save his life, I could hear him singing this song to me. "Up down up down up down up down yea, it will get hard, remember, life's like a jump rope."
And suddenly the OSM's advice made all the sense in the world. Don't fight it. Ride it out. It is like a wave. It will come, and it will pass. And I will remain. I don't have to fight it to win, I just have to outlast it. And that... that doesn't take nearly as much effort. Not every victory has to be hard won. I don't have to be breathing hard, clinging to the victory with a shaking hand. Some victories are handed to you, when the victory is fought for you, when you the battle up to the One who is stronger. When you ride it out and leave the hard part to the Victor. It's okay to cry, and it's okay to feel it, and by riding the wave out, it loses it's strength as it tries to knock me down. It's life, and it's like a jump rope.
And somehow, in the memory of the night I wanted to forget, I was flooded with hope. If, when I was so broken, and so fucked up, someone could look me in the eye, know the worst of me, and love me, then there is still hope. If my Dad can speak to me in the lyrics of a song and make me feel so much better, long after he's gone, there is still hope. If God continues to work through the OSM (I must add, in almost the exact way He used to work through Jonah) in knowing when I need to stay and talk it out, and when I only think I need to when my real need is to spend some more time in my own head figuring it all out, there is hope. I have not been abandoned. He is still as close as my heartbeat; His hand is still guiding my every step.
If, at the end of this particular wave, I feel stronger than I ever have... there is still hope.
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