Stay

It’s really no wonder I fell apart last night. I didn’t realize all of the issues building over the last two weeks into a culmination of heart and spirit-crushing grief and anxiety.

Of course, my birthday began my back-pedal into grief and anxiety, followed by my brother’s dream about Chris. Ever since his dream, I have felt as though Chris is here with me, and that pattern of thought always throws me into a futile cycle of “He’s here!” followed by “He’s dead.” followed by “He’s here!” followed by “He’s dead,” etc. It’s an exhausting pattern, really. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with my belief in the spirit world and the afterlife. My faith has the capacity to exhaust me beyond all exhaustion.

I have also been watching “The Sopranos” beginning with season 1. Chris and I did that in L.A. when we were both so unhappy to be there that we rented every season as means of keeping us busy and occupied while we saved money to move back home. I didn’t realize how much the opening theme song would bring me back to our futon couch in West Hollywood, amidst our growing love…and Chris’ growing tumor.

In addition, I found out that someone I know and admire deeply is going to have a baby. The news, although very joyful, left me feeling very regretful over a lost life I didn’t get to realize with Chris, the promise of a family, a child of my own and Chris’ lost opportunity to be a father. My bubble burst and I came home feeling painfully envious of this man, who is 40 years old, and his wife, a young woman of 27. Knowing her age filled me with senseless regret. I don’t want to be 27, again, but at 27, beginning a life with someone has promise. Beginning a family is a real possibility, a gift a couple can share with one another. I may have lost my chance when I lost my Chris.

I came home, carrying a very heavy heart. When it finally burst, and the floodgates opened, I found myself quivering and crying uncontrollably, once again, about all the pain and fear Chris had to endure, and about all of the loss anybody in this world has to experience. I was not capable of calming myself down, last night, and the clock kept on clocking along. Finally, at 1:15 a.m., I got up and took the 2nd half of the Ativan I swallowed an hour earlier, and prepared to be rendered unconscious. When I awoke at 7:00 a.m., I was okay, again. I’m always okay, again. Things just get dicey, sometimes.

I’m 42 years old. I know women have children at my age. I’m feeling so very lucky to have found Jonathan and, love not withholding, so happy we work well, together. We’re easy, together. Our relationship is quiet, peaceful, fun, adoring, and filled with love. I never thought I would find that again, certainly not in time to ponder the possibility of becoming a mother and making my own mother a grandmother by me. I want that. I want a life with Jonathan, as his wife…his young wife (why not, right?) and I want to have children with him, and just be with him.

And I want our opportunities to stay, this time.