Writing without the deeply personal is not the whole story of grief. To give the whole story, to give as many handholds as possible in the steep climb of grief, we need to hear personal stories. Each Friday, I’ll post something from my own experience of grief and love. It’s an inside look at love, at grief, at life.
Normally, in this space, I share a post from my earlier days in this After death life. Today, though, a post from not that long ago. This is what grief, and love, and life looks like today.
I woke up this morning sad and impatient. Sad first, then impatient.
In my dreams, Matt was present because of his absence. In my dreams, I watched other men, watched their forms, watched their shapes, built so much like him, I had to turn away. It was too close, the physical reminders were far too close. His body is gone. In my dreams, I was thankful that no one in my life now looks like him, is built like him. That would be too hard.
In my dreams, someone I care about built a stone bridge, a passageway to a beautiful pasture; he jumped on it to test how solid it was. I watched, sad that it wasn’t Matt who built it, but glad to see the man who did.
Moving through the morning, sadness followed me, morphing into impatience. There is so much I want for myself now. Things that are just off-stage, not close enough to touch. I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t have time to let things evolve. I don’t have time for baby steps, or pacing myself, or waiting for the right time for anything.
None of us “have time.”
My time with the people I love, the time to live the things I want for myself – it’s all finite. The beauty of the world, the neatness of it all, all the things I want to do – can we just get the f*ck on with it?
Can we just strip right through all the development and timing and right rhythm, and just get to it already, please?
I don’t want to run out of time.
There’s a beautiful life that’s not here yet. There are things that have been dormant and damaged for nearly six years now, and they are coming back, waking up, wanting to live. Carrying sadness still, yes, but also impatience.
If I want beauty again in this life, then that is amazing, and I want it right the f*ck NOW.
My desire for life currently outstrips the structures within which to live that life.
There are things I want to build for myself, and for this community, that hover on the horizon.
I’m annoyed with the horizon. I know full well I might not make it there. I know that wanting, that imagining, that even moving towards all that I want, doesn’t mean that I will make it there.
I don’t want my life to end and find my last words are “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I didn’t get to love as much as I wanted to.
I don’t want to run out of time.
Many of you see me as prolific. The over-achiever in me finds this amusing. The truth is, it’s never enough. The truth is, every day, I set goals for myself to create and to grow and to see tangible evidence of progress – personally, and here in this space, for you.
There is so much I want.
And almost every day, I come to the end and see the finite pool of time here draining. There is so much I want, and I want it all to be here right now. I’m annoyed with the wait. I’m annoyed with others, and I’m annoyed with myself.
I’m annoyed at how, knowing what I know, I can still manage to hesitate, procrastinate, hold back. I can still let a moment pass. I can still waste time.
I want to do what is mine to do, to create my part of beauty, of progress, of life.
I don’t want to have my death show up, whenever it does, and find I apologize to myself for not taking action, not enough, not enough, to step into the beauty I want.
As I write, DH Lawrence rings in my head: kick over your tiresome house of life.
There is not enough time to hesitate, to be unsure, to not just boldly stomp into life and say what is true, what is now, what you want. What I want.
My impatience is married to sadness. It is married to love. Because I know that life is short, I want for myself all that is possible.
Because my love died off of dog-wash island on a perfectly ordinary normal day, in the middle of everything. There is not enough time now to wait.
I want it all NOW.
How about you? How has grief made you impatient? What are some of the ways your old personality has morphed – have you become more pushy? More brazen? More annoyed? Let us know in the comments. As always, I love to hear from you.