To a Damaged, Imperfect and Flawed Friend

Dear Damaged, Imperfect and Flawed Friend,

How very glad you are all of the above.  It means you're still here, still working on 'stuff' just like the rest of us poor slobs.  It means you recognise that your current unhappiness is not normal and that you are already in the process of change.  I am sorry you are blue and experiencing a (temporary) lack of self confidence and that inner fortitude that I, and everyone who knows you, sees so clearly. 

What happened to your Big Life?  For whatever reason it no longer suited you.  Perhaps it will suit you again and you will go and create another Big Life.  Because you can.  You know you can.  Then again, maybe a Big Life isn't the answer either.   Maybe just a different life; different from the **** and ***** life, different from everything you've known and done before.  God, if anyone can do it, you can.  Do you know how much I admire you, how I try not to envy you - your energy, your intelligence, your confidence, your wisdom, and that Bigness of Being.  I always feel like I'm not doing enough, being enough when I'm around you.  Not that you in any way try and make me feel that way, not at all.  My feelings are my responsibility, my problem - but you are a bit larger than life and the rest of us are kind of animated shadows in your presence.  Lazy animated shadows.  You've accomplished so much, done so much, been through so much and come out the other side, long striding with a cheeky smile.

It's obvious I see you differently than you see yourself right now.

To me it is also obvious that you are grieving, grieving for what was, as imperfect as it was, as impossible as it was, it was still your reality for over 10 years.  Now it's finished and letting go is a bit sad especially as you're not quite sure where you're going next.  But go you will.  It might mean HUGE changes, changes that you think impossible now.  New chapters usually mean change.

I am sorry you've been disappointed by a friend or friend(s).  That's rough.  First time it happened to me as an adult I was flabbergasted.  I didn't think adults did that to each other, thought adults left it behind in elementary school but I was wrong.  I got over it and did as you have done - just got them out of my life.  Time is the only thing I (don't) own - so wasting it on people who have other agendas besides friendship is verboten.  I owe them nothing. 

You might put out more love when you get assaulted.  I'm not evolved enough to do that.  Self preservation comes first.  No, being really pissed off comes first.  Then self preservation, then letting them go - wishing them well (like I said, not evolved enough for love) but getting them away from me.  I do know that I can love them later.  The one and only guy in my past who physically abused me - first I got myself and my cat out of there, then I did alot of How Dare He?  Then I healed and forgot, then finally forgave him.  Now with the distance of many years I see he had real problems, that he was weak and frightened and quite pitiful.  But took me years to get to a compassionate view of him.  Anyway, you didn't need a betrayal on top of everything else but it might be part of the moving on scenario you're embarked upon.  Who knows?  Or maybe you've outgrown the friendship and they found a way to set you free.  Friends, especially friends of long standing (like close family), reinforce certain images we have of ourselves - but maybe it's the wrong image.  

You're a traveller.  Remember when you rocked up on foreign shores where no one knew you and you were more yourself than you had ever been?  Maybe that didn't happen to you but it did for me.  All the Holly Daughter, Holly Wife, Holly Sister, Holly Friend facades cracked and a somewhat different, stronger, tougher, and more authentic Holly emerged.  Your friends could've done you a huge favour.

LIke you I get depressed about things out of my control.  It's an ongoing life lesson that I'm still very much engaged with.  I rant at the stupidity of people, governments, you know the drill.  And all I accomplish is getting myself upset.  So I try and do other things instead - live my life in a way that treads lightly, write lots and lots of letters to politicians, sign lots and lots and lots of petitions, give money to good causes and then let it go.  I am responsible for my own life, the example I set,  the thoughts I think.  I subscribe to things which tell me good news, or informs me about creative people, and sites which reinforce the beauty beauty beauty in the world.  And thank god I walk the dogs every day.  That hour in nature does so much to restore my equilibrium.  That and the hour of yoga (yoga has changed my life).  But the best antidote to depression  is gratitude.  I thank my ugly feet for carrying me so well, the bed which carries me safely while I sleep, the food, OH THE FOOD!, that I love too much and which others don't have, for Richard, always for Richard, the cats, the headache which feels so good when it's gone, for everything.  Can't meditate very well  so that deep well of stillness is elusive, but I can and do give thanks.

For you too.  For your troubles which will make you shine even brighter.  The wisdom you have, the compassion you share, the love you give so unselfishly - do you think you can be what and who you are and live old and alone, in that very small life?  No, your spirit is too large and radiant for that.  And if it doesn't feel that way now.  Just wait, it will.

Richard's mental sharpness is deteriorating almost, it seems, before my eyes.  He's slower, his speech is slower, his voice is no longer his but an old man's voice.  It's almost as though I speak to him through a thick brown pane of glass.  He can hear me and I can hear him but the sharpness and immediacy of speech is muffled and delayed. 

This morning I rang Canton Ohio to see if Aunt Lee was still alive.  A letter I'd written her in October was returned.  I know now that she gave me the wrong address but I didn't know that until I'd googled it looking for the phone number.  Anyway, I spoke to her.  She had no idea who I was.  The name was familiar, Barbara and Jack's names were familiar but she couldn't place them.  She couldn't remember the name of her husband either.  I wrote in reply to a letter she'd written in October which although confused and rambling was anchored in the reality of names and places and events.  It's only December.  She's slid into la la land in a few months, the same as Grandma Anne.

Which brings me to - Richard, who was fully aware of who I spoke to and why (we spoke at length about the returned letter and Aunt Lee), kept referring to Aunt Lee as Grandma Anne.  Who, I asked.  Grandma Anne.  Normally a person would catch themselves and say, "No, I meant Aunt Lee!" but even when pressed he stuck to Grandma Anne.  Then when his attention was drawn to the mistake he accused me of being angry with him.  Because he's scared he goes on the offensive.

Often I see him standing or sitting staring off into space, no, not off into space, at the ground.  He doesn't look up anymore.  For minutes at a time.

I didn't used to worry but I'm worried now and I worry about my worrying for it doesn't help and it wears me down.  I understand why I slept for 2 days when he went to the States.  I didn't have to check up on him all the time, nor did I have to - not entertain him but break up the silent empty chunks of time for him.  He often comes looking for me.  I feel the neediness of him even if it isn't verbalized.  He needs to know I'm nearby.  I understand why I'm riding more than I used to.  That hour on Balthazar is time by myself where I cannot be reached.  I breathe more deeply then.

Worry too about moving house.  Is it a crazy idea?  Or will it help him to engage and focus more.  When he's interested in something he pulls himself together and seems quite normal (although he fixates on things more than he used to, grabbing on to a topic or job and worrying at it until it's finished).  On the other hand, if he is deteriorating as quickly as he seems to be, I will eventually face the reality of being on my own.  Do I want to be on my own and still live in Gatton?  Can't imagine I'd be moving myself and all the animals and furnishings by myself.  So if we're going to move it has to be soon.  Suspect that whereever we're living in the next couple of years is where I'll be seeing out my days.

 I feel guilty for thinking about a future that only contains him on the periphery but if my suspicions are correct there will come a time, and perhaps sooner than I think, when I won't be able to manage him.  If that is the case, I want to live in a place where there is no annual massive burning of the bush or an operating quarry.  I want to live in a place of physical beauty and be near people who perhaps aren't so hidebound and conservative as they are in this farming town.   So I plan and scheme and try and convince Richard that it's a good idea to move to the Tweed Valley and not north to the Sunshine Coast hinterland.  If we move there we will only be able to afford a small acreage and will be stuck in some hobby farm development on poor soil with the possibility of crap neighbours and noise.  If we go south we can afford acreage, acreage which will act as a buffer.

I would give a lot to have Richard back as he was.  I miss him.  I blame that damn surgery and that damn incident which put him in intensive care (and of which we don't know the real truth, I'd wager).  Until then he'd been fine.  Now I do the heavy lifting.  Maybe that's only fair.  He was my strong hero and looked after me.  Now it's my turn.  I chose to remain childless to avoid responsibility.  But there's no escape from the lessons we're sent to learn.  I have to learn unselfishness.  MIndfulness.  Trust in the Universe.  The healing power of love, for him and for myself.  Endurance.  Resilience.  Humour.  Patience.  It's all come together, is coming together in one massively intense One on One lesson.