Skip to main content

Painful Anniversary

Certain pain never really abdicates your heart, it merely recedes its insidious tendrils. You try valiantly to resist the urge to cry suddenly, chalking it up to weakness, fear, and lack of fortitude. But eventually, you stop pretending to be made of steel, and succumb to your feelings reluctantly. The sobbing is stifled first, barely audible gasps caught in an aching throat worn raw from all the anguished shouting. Your breathing grows laborious as you struggle to maintain a semblance of dignity, fighting to continue gulping air greedily before the current of gargantuan emotion inevitably overtakes you. Your entire being is racked with raw, unfiltered pain, resonating through the vast, cavernous expanse once occupied by your soul. Your heart yearns maddeningly for what youve lost, reaching out constantly, vainly in all directions, before settling down into reluctant acceptance. The piece of you that was stolen by cruel, harsh life will never return, nor will anything of substance recover enough to occupy the vacancy that has forced itself into your waking life. You will re-emerge from the murky depths, rest assured. The human spirit, though fragile, is also unimaginably strong. But you will never be whole again, forever broken, always searching for what the malevolently natural ending of life has stolen from you. You will always be scarred, and there is little consolation in that fact. But you will endure, especially since you have no other choice. As surely as the clouds roam through the black void of the night sky, so to will you drift through the darkness. The bitter embrace of polarizing cold will enull the frayed nerve endings of your heart, protecting you from further torment, preparing you for the moment that the scalding embrace of love will surture those scabbing, festering wounds shut permanently.  Ive been here, as have many. Take heed my friend, life goes on, and you will live yet.

Its been 5 years since that dreadful day, and simply visualizing her face, mentally enjoying her presence, is enough to topple me, instantly disintegrating my facade of toughness and stoic reserve. Even now as I pen this, my chest is tightening, and in the fogged car mirror I can see the glistening of burgeoning tears dancing over my eyes. Not a day goes by that my heart doesnt scream for you agonizingly, burdening me with the role of vigilant caretaker to a sensitive child. Or maybe Ive just grown to hard from my years in the military. Im sentimental and emotional by nature, and that will never change, I refuse to allow it. Yet Ive learned from necessity that the compartimentalization of certain feelings and thoughts is essential to survival. Ive come to realize, however, that trying to remain pragmatic and objective in the face of such profound loss is cowardice masked as power. There is no strength or pride to be found in neglecting ones emotional well being, especially regarding one so special and integral to my development as a man. Id essentially be denying my love for my gracious Grandmother. Dealing with the grief is not easy, as it effects me so deeply and completely half a decade later. But Im getting better. I know that she has shed this falliable mortal coil and departed this wretched, disgusting world for a setting more fitting a woman of her stature, station and character. I long to touch her again, to experience the favor of an angel once more. These may be fantastical pipe dreams at present, but I know shes with me. As a Christian, Im ashamed to admit that, while my faith doesnt falter, I sometimes eschew my confidence in seeing her again in favor of caving to my moroseness, craving to hold her in the flesh for one more day. Selfish I know, but we are all human. The pain ebbs and flows, and I ride the waves, forever reaching for the shore towards reunification.

After the last pulses of bittersweet nostalgia have passed through me, I lay feeling relieved. Another year has passed by, yet it still feels like you never left. Your presence hangs over all of us, a certain thickness in the air, the slightest provocation triggering your beloved reveries. In the heat of battle, my demons grasping me by the throat, threatening to stifle, smother and suffocate me with my own grief, I can be forgiven by all but myself for zeroing on solely on the negativity, to allowing myself to become dominated by cynicism. After the din has dropped though, and Im gazing upon the skirmish with clear, unfettered vision, I can easily realize how pathetic such a perspective is. Mourning you will never end, nor should it. For a love as everlasting and perpetual as yours, the grieving will never really subside. But to focus solely on your death is an insult to the life you lived perfectly, and the accomplishments you left behind. When I feel the ice setting in and the clammy, unsettling hands of absence and recognition wrapping around my heart, I will immediately remember who you are. The unbridled, insatiable confidence you imbued in me is the sole trait that allowed me to power through adversity and barricades as ferociously as I have. Watching Jeoprady, reading books, watching documentaries, and playing poker while you praised me for my emerging intelligence formed the bedrock of my varied interests spanning across the sciences. Your genuine astonishment at my writing and musical attempts fueled my early efforts, and your voice still rings deep in my mind whenever fear and doubt plague me. The fondest moments of my childhood were absconding to your house on a frigid winter day, eager to be thawed out by vegetable soup enhanced by gratuitious amounts of spices and plump, succulent hamburger meat. If simplicity is the true key to success, then you were a virtuoso, and we were all blessed to bask in your vivacious magnanaminity and maternal care. Until we meet again Grandma, I love you. Rest In Peace.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Return To The Field

How often must I remain here? I must have died unexpectedly, and my wandering spirit, aura thick with malevolence and anguish, refuses to acknowledge my own death. Indeed, I have become a ghost, cursed to haunt diners, coffeeshops, bars and beaches, pen brandished and book unsheathed. I've grown so distant from others that Im more statue than Man, yet where this separation once stung painfully, it now soothes reassuringly. Lumped in with a generation of "men" with testosterone levels lower than a woman's would be 30 years ago, and forced to make due with "women" that proudly proclaim themselves sluts and will actually attempt to fistfight men if they are ignored and eschewed, as they should be, my sentiment is clear. I want no part of this generation. It's filthy and degraded.

You could say I'm living a daydream right now, a fantasy granted the breath of life by divine providence. How many shifts at work have I frittered away contemplating the perf…

The Terrace

I never imagined that I'd be writing this here in Hawaii of all places. I was the kid who wasted his potential, the wunderkind that sullied his genius through the pursuit of prestige and neglect, the prodigy that nearly failed out of high school pitifully. Now, a little over 3 weeks from my 26th birthday, Ive stepped back to reflect, as anyone of above average meaning and consciousness is apt to do. At 17, I would fantasize about traveling the country playing cards, busking, guitar firmly in hand, and writing, producing a sustainable living with my words. Less than a decade later, Ive made $1000 in less than a week off of an investment of $100 in the poker rooms of San Diego, had my poetry published in a variety of online magazines, and have recorded music with independent artists in 3 different states. Ive traveled the world and been inducted into the famed Order of Magellan. In short, Ive done everything my detractors deemed outside of my reach. If this seems self-aggrandizing, …

My Path In Physical Culture: Part 1

Unlike a growing contingent of “athletes” obsessed with efficiency at the expense of results and productivity, I love to train. In fact, I fucking LIVE to train. The understated ease yet enjoyable difficulty and toil that comes with increasing your work capacity, refining a previously intimidating technique, perfecting the firing of your neuromuscular proficiencies, and simply pumping your limbs full of blood until they are close to bursting all amalgamate to form a potent cocktail that will forever remain unmatched and unsurpassed by any narcotic or liquor. In my opinion, it even beats the height of orgasm at times. Arnold said it first, so by default it can’t be wrong.



                                                             The King has spoken.

It is both the bane and the blessing of every bodybuilder’s existence. It can leave you unfathomably sore and crippled with DOMS after the ecstasy of the experience has subsided, yet, in the moment, you can feel as if you have the body…