i cherish all you gave me

How are there things we can’t say to each other? There is a facade I constantly have up around other people. Everytime I’ve attempted to let the facade down, everytime I’ve tried to be completely honest and vulnerable to the world or even just a single person, I’ve gotten hurt. Ripped apart and completly torn to shreds. Which is why I like my facade so much. I’m safe behind it. I’m comfortable, and while there might be pain, at least there’s nothing new about the pain. I know this pain and I’ve learned to breathe around it.

I let my facade down around Newfie. I was completly open to him. Because everytime I let down a piece of my facade, he didn’t run for the hills. And so I trusted him and in the spirit of trying to be open with people and letting people in, I let down my guard around him. And I got hurt. So now I’ve retreated behind my facade, behind my walls and barricades. I need time to lick my wounds, to recover and heal. I can’t say everything to everybody because I don’t trust myself to be kind, to be realistic.

To Newfie – “Why wasn’t I enough?”

To Doc – “Why did you abandon us to her?”

To Lulorial – “Why can’t you understand why my heart is broken? More importantly, why can’t you care?”

To Grandpa – “Why did you die before I was ready? Were you proud of me? Are you proud of me now?”

To Grandma – “Are you proud of me?”

To Dad – “Why can’t I ever make you proud?”

To Manny – “Are you really over me? Cause I’m not over you.”

To Heather – “Do you know that I still don’t trust you? And that I might never be able to?”

Is any of that realistic? Of course not. Will it make anything better? Of course not. Can I scream it at the walls of my facade? Yes. So I do, but not at them. Never at them. As the days go by behind this wall, the more things there are that I don’t say. The more things that I don’t let out. But what’s worse than this, are the things I don’t say because I no longer have anyone to say them to.

Today I played a funeral for a local man, beloved by many in the community. The church was packed with people who spoke about him and told stories about him. It was a good service and I didn’t cry at all. The pastor had said he had wanted this to be more of a celebration than a time of sadness. And that’s fine, and everyone tried, but its still hard. And I understand that. I was doing fine, until the homily. Pastor Mary talked about how long the man held on, and at the very end, he was saying, “Ready! Ready! I’m ready!” He was finally ready to go. She said she felt he went on his terms and in his own way, at home with his family, when he was ready, but also when his family was ready. I started crying then because I realized I wasn’t ready for my grandfather to die this past June. Everything else up I’ve been feeling – anger, loss, sadness, distress – is coming from not being ready. I’m not sure you’re ever completly ready to let someone go, but sometimes you do come to terms with it.

When my mother’s father died a few years ago, I was ready. At least as ready as I’d ever be. After his heart attack, he had the choice of having surgery or not. He heard all the risks and knew that he might never wake up. He decided to have the surgery, but was able to see all his children before he went under. Two weeks later, after he hadn’t woken up, my grandmother told him she was ready and that he could go. And he did. It was relatively quick. A month from the heart attack to death, but enough time to come to terms with it. To say what needed to be said, and get one last kiss, one last “I love you.” But it was also not years and years of waiting and wondering was this the last time. It was not drawn out.

My father’s father has been “dying” since I was five. So I wasn’t ready when he actually died twenty years later. I don’t know that he was proud of me. I just don’t know. I also don’t feel like I got to say good-bye to him the right way. My mom’s mom let the children help with the planning of the viewing and funeral and memorial service. There were certain things she and my grandfather had wanted or not wanted, and those wishes were respected. But she also understood that the children and grandchildren needed to find their own ways of dealing with it as well. I could deal with it through my music. I was able and allowed to give that at the memorial service. I was able to grieve. But this time, I wasn’t able to do that.

On one hand, I was high as a fucking kite. My car accident had been a week earlier and I was still on pain meds. Secondly, my grandmother was strict in how she wanted things done and even how she wanted us to grieve and act. How long she wanted us at the casket, how much she wanted us to cry, how hard she wanted us to cry. She didn’t really let us grieve. So I haven’t really been able to grieve. I haven’t been able to find things to remember him by, or have things from his closet or dresser. I don’t need to take things my grandmother wants to keep or things other family members want more. But I need to have something that connects me to him. Reminds me of who he is and where I came from. I have a bear with a shirt my mom’s dad used to wear. A shirt I remember him wearing. My aunt knew a women who takes human shirts and resews them to fit stuffed teddy bears. So I have one. Its something I can touch and look at and hold and remember him. It connects me to him. I know he was proud of me. The day we arrived in FL after he died, we went to meet up with my grandmother. When she hugged me, she whispered to me, “Grandpa loved all his grandchildren. But you were special because you were the first. He was so proud of you.” I’ve held those words so close to me.

I wonder about my other grandfather. It kills me that I actually have to wonder that, but I do. I’ve been so lost and messed up the past few years. I just don’t know what he thinks of me. I don’t know if he’s proud of me or who I am or what I’ve done. I don’t know if he’s proud to call me family, to call me his granddaughter. I’m proud of my heritage and where I come from. I’m proud of the name and the clan he’s given me. I proudly wear my kilt. But I wonder if he’s proud that I’m his granddaughter, that I wear his kilt and bear his name.

I almost completly lost it today at the funeral. The daughter of the man who passed away requested Josh Groban’s To Where You Are be played and I just started weeping. I could barely stop in time to play the postlude. Jenny has been telling me I need to just let the emotions flow and when they start let them come. But I had a job to do. I needed to finish the service and be professional. Once the service was done and everyone had left, I couldn’t get back to that place. Writing this, I’ve found the song on my computer and I’ve lost it a few times already.

Driving home from the service, I realized how good it was that I figured out why my grandfather’s death has impacted me so much. I wasn’t ready. And I need to know if he was proud of me. Now, no matter what anyone says, I won’t ever know for certain. My grandmother, his wife, would be the closest person to convincing me. But I can’t ask her. It wouldn’t be the same. While I was upset about this fact, it’s good that I realized all this. I figured it out! I understand! So who do I talk to? Who can I call when I start crying uncontrollably? Who do I want to hold me or even just stroke my hair or hold my hand? Who do I want to hand me the box of tissues and sit next to me as I cry and scream as I’ve been doing for the past hour?

Honestly, right now – the best answer I can come up with is Newfie. But mostly because he knows how hard this has been for me this year. He knows I’ve been struggling with trying to understand why I’m so upset about losing my grandpa. And I’ve sat on the floor and cried while he sat on the couch next to me. He doesn’t make me stop crying, or make me feel like I need to stop. He was just there, letting me feel safe and allowing me to go through it with someone. Not letting me go through it alone. Manny would try to stop the crying, to calm me down. I don’t always need to calm down. I need to weather the storm and make it through to the other side. Instead of staying ahead of the hurricane, I need to battle through and get to the other side. Which somehow, Newfie understood and allowed me to do just that. So right now, all I want is for him to be here and help me through this. That is what the girl behind the facade is asking. But she also knows she can’t do that.

I don’t completly understand why. But I know that I can’t. There’s a line with him and I now. A line between friends and something more. He’s made it clear we’re only friends. And we’ve never been anything more. But somehow, we have. And now I’m trying to backtrack to just being friends and I don’t really know how to do that. When is it okay to need him? When is it okay to call him or email him or IM him? When is it too much? When is the topic okay to share with him and when is it crossing the line? Where excatly is this line?

Now maybe I’ve overreacted, but I’ve taken the line and turned it into a chasm. I can’t seem to figure out where the line is, so instead of a tiny pencil line, I’ve turned it into deep cleft wider than the Grand Canyon. Slowly, I’ll close the gap as I figure out where the line is. As I figure out what parts of the facade to let down around him again.

I want to get over my grandfather. I want to get through this step in the grief process and move onto the next one. But I need to stop the crying for tonight. Its now 3am and I have to leave for church in six hours. I need to find someone who can see all of me behind the facade. I need someone who can make me feel safe enough to let the facade down, because right now its up and there are armed patrols on the tops of the walls. I’m not even sure how to let it down. On the other hand, behind this facade, I’m able to not be hurt and I’m able to accomplish a lot. I may need to hide out here until grad school is finished, until I have a job and a career. This may be the best course of action. Or I may be full of shit.

Who can say for certain
Maybe you’re still here
I feel you all around me
Your memories so clear

Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You’re still an inspiration
Can it be

That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching
Over me from up above

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you’re there
A breath away’s not far
To where you are

Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn’t faith believing
All power can’t be seen

As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me
Everyday

‘Cause you are mine
Forever love
Watching me
From up above

And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on
And never leave

Fly me up
To where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you’re there
A breath away’s not far
To where you are

I know you’re there
A breath away’s not far
To where you are

To Where You Are ~ Josh Groban