When she stumbles, my chest crumbles for her. When she's struggling, I want to help. When she's hurting, I want to hug. And when she's succeeding, I want to celebrate her by dancing on the nearest table and screaming "FUCK YEAH!" while popping champagne.
That morning I said a little prayer for her, sent her good thoughts. Or as some poetically refer to it - sent her light and love. Just like I did on the morning of March 29th. Just like I did on the morning of her birthday, on Christmas Eve, New Year's Eve, and even back on Valentine's Day.
But here's the thing. I don't pray. At all. For anyone, including myself.
Yet even to this day, I ask some greater power to rain smiles down on her in everything she does and everywhere she goes. It's as if my God appointed duty on this Earth is to make sure her heart feels full, regardless if I'm in it. And that her life is happy and blessed, regardless of who she invites in it. That I am to make certain she's content, all the while adhering to the difficult rule of respecting silence. If there is a God, perhaps that is his test for me? To let love liberate my soul.
So I stay to the back and off to the side while she takes center stage. Keeping my distance and keeping my mouth shut, respecting her wishes. Silently cheering and supporting. And sending light and love. Does it work? Does it even reach her? Does she even care to know I do this? I don't know. I do know that not admitting it doesn't make it any less true. I also know that respecting silence is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do!
I'm good at telling myself things. Like long ago when everyone around me said I was falling in love, I denied it, to them and to myself. I wanted to be in control of my emotions when it started. I wanted to be in control of my emotions when it ended too. And I attempted to do so by setting personal deadlines for how long I would permit myself to grieve...
Come tomorrow I'll be ok.
Come next week I'll be ok.
Come next month I'll be ok.
By New Years I'll be ok.
These deadlines would come and go. The pain would lessen with each passing day and I no longer had to tell myself the "I'll be ok" lie. I actually felt ok, at last! Then the package came in the mail. The one I sort of forgot would soon arrive (or tried blocking out of my mind). The one I had prepared for long ago by telling myself I would be totally fine by the time that day rolled around. Again, I lied. I told myself I could open it. I would be ok. But slicing through the first few inches of packaging tape was like slicing open an old wound. While I was incredibly proud and happy FOR her, I felt incredibly sad inside and even angry I couldn't share the joy WITH her. It's then I realized maybe I'm not ok after all. Close, 99.9% there. But that remaining .1% disgusts me. I disgust me! So I stop opening the package and slide it gentley under my bed, telling myself..."Come tomorrow I'll be ok."
Respecting silence isn't just about respecting the "quiet space" placed between you and someone you care/cared for. It's also about respecting yourself enough to fill the "noisy space" in your head with kinder, gentler thoughts about yourself. I'm working on that second part.
- DS
***NOTE***
For the first time in this blog's 6 year existence, the comment section on this post is closed. As a reader, I'm sure you have something to say. And that's exactly my point! To demonstrate just how frustratingly difficult it is respecting silence.
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