Good Things Amidst a Sea of Grief

I just got home from rehearsal and I’m not in the mood to go straight to bed, so I’m taking the time I need to unwind. I’m guessing I’ll be hitting the hay at around midnight and that is just fine with me because I know I’m having Thai food tomorrow night and that’s all I really need to know in order to chase away my fear of being tired tomorrow.

I love my director and his husband. They’re very nice, good people. They don’t know how much they have helped me heal just by casting me in their show these past two seasons. Singing is the most therapeutical activity I have ever known. No matter how rough things can get in my life and in my mind, when I’m singing a song and being in each moment of that story, grief ceases to exist completely. I needed the break tonight.

There’s a duet from the musical “Miss Saigon” that one of my co-singers wanted to perform with me. We tried it this evening. I didn’t tell anyone, but I could never sing that song because it is much too painful for me. Coincidentally, the man they are singing about is named Chris. That, alone, is too much for me to bear. The lyrics are:

I still believe you will return.
I know you will.
My heart against all odds holds still.

love cannot die.
You will return, you will return,
and I alone know why...

I still believe the time will come
when nothing keeps us apart.
My heart forever more holds still.

It's all over I'm here, there is nothing to fear!
Chris, what's haunting you?
Won't you let me inside
what you so want to hide.
I need you too!

I will Hold you all night
I will make it all right

You are safe with me
You can sleep now
I'll Live...I'll live
You can cry now
You will return
I'm your wife now
For life

It took every ounce of concentration I had not to cry right there at the piano. I felt panic rising in my chest and I just wished Rob would stop playing. I stood there grinding my teeth, waiting for the song to end. I told him I didn’t like it and didn’t want to sing it.

After rehearsal, I was chitchatting with the two of them and I told them about Marc. They were both so happy for me. They’re so sweet. I felt really warm and really safe sitting there sharing part of my life with them.

When I got home from work today, I immediately turned on the air conditioners and went to my room, turned on the fan and sat in front of it. I glanced over at my night stand where my picture of Chris sits. I snapped the picture the last time Chris and I went to Venice Beach before we moved home from Los Angeles. We were happy that day. He looked good. He looked healthy. Neither of us knew that cancer was growing within him even as we enjoyed our cheeseburgers and walked the boardwalk together. Neither of us knew we wouldn’t get to spend our lives together.

I took the picture in my hand and sat there on the edge of my bed with the fan blowing me cool and once again, lost control of myself as I sobbed, hugging the photo against my chest. I just have to accept that I’m not in control for now. Grief has me in it’s jaws. I am completely at its mercy until I’m not anymore. That’s the story.

I sent Marc a quick e-mail the other day. At the end of the note, I informed him that my nerves have been wreaking havoc lately. We have since corresponded and I clarified that I am actively grieving and that I just wanted him to know. I don’t know what he will say to that. Maybe I have scared him off. I feel better since I put it out there, though. Telling him was like releasing the valve on a pressure cooker. It helped me. I guess I’ll find out if he ever wants to see me again. The poor guy doesn’t know what he’s getting into. I don’t even know what I’m getting into.

He knows grief. He knows death. I’m hoping he will understand. I like him.

Time will tell.

I wish Chris could see me now. I’m singing with a fabulous group. I’m singing in a documentary. I’m singing with my university symphony orchestra. My friend just offered me a job singing in a church, stating that the door to singing at wedding services will probably open. I’m getting paid to sing. He would have liked that.

But I did it all after he died.

Maybe he sees.