I Never Wanted To Know

I never wanted to have to find out, and prove, how tough I can be - never.

I still don't want to.

I don't want to.

I don't want to.

At the moment I'm not feeling the least bit tough. I'm in the process of soaking my way through a roll of paper towels, having already used up my box of Kleenex.

The loss of this oh so dear friend is hitting very hard. 

Part of it is that I was not with her; we never got to say goodbye. The last thing she said to me were the above words, 'You will do what you have to do.' They seemed such a non-sequitur at the time, just a couple of days ago. We smiled, her eyes as always giving me strength and peace. I was so very looking forward to seeing her today, her smile, the smile reaching her eyes as she recognized me.

All these tears, this plugged nose, red eyes, sopping wet paper towels - they are my selfishness, which doesn't help the situation any. I weep not for her but for my own loss. I am bereft, bereaved.

Part of it is that I cannot really grieve except here, alone. I can't take the time it would require to find my peace - and what peace is there for me to find? This dear friend is the one I sought out when I was in need of peace, and strength. For years, from the day I met her, she was my go-to person for peace, and strength. Now I feel as though I have lost my balance and fallen. It is times like this that I seek my friend - but she is gone from me so where am I to turn?

Part of it is the cumulative effect of continual loss.

Every other loss over the years of our friendship was somehow eased a little by the touching of our foreheads, the touch of her hand to my face, the understanding in her eyes that I needed her. Every one. She was there when I needed her, and I ... I ... where was I when she might have needed me? 

Part of it is my own guilt. I should have been there, should have spent more quality time with her, with everyone ... 

Her words are in my mind, in my heart, in my soul. She didn't always talk a whole lot. These words from her are precious to me. So very precious. You see, although she never read a word of the books I write, the words of this dear friend are quite very familiar to me. They have been many times the words of Characters who have never held my hands in theirs, never touched foreheads with me, never smiled into my eyes - yet it is their words I heard from my friend, out of the blue just a couple of days ago. They seemed so out of context but it turns out that they were not.

And so, what am I to do?

I've been weeping for hours; you'd think I'd be out of tears but no, they keep coming.

They do not belong to her, nor to any of the others. They belong to me and I ought to have known they were coming.

I cannot be as tough as I think I ought to be. 

I cannot.

In reality, I do not want to be.

I would rather go through the grief, the hurt, rather shake my fist at the sky, rather weep and weep and weep - and God it hurts, it's a soul-wrenching hurt.

If the tears flow through this night, so be it. If they are still flowing come daylight, so be it. I will weep them, let them rise, course, fall, and carry with them from my heart bits of that hurt until their task is done.

If they do not abate I will call in for tomorrow's shift. It is not right, not fair to the others who deserve the best I have in me to give to them. Someone will ask me, when they answer the phone, 'Are you sick? What are your symptoms?' And what will I say?

I am heart-sick. 

What do you mean, you're heart-sick? You have a heart condition? You need to see your doctor.

Not that kind of heart-sick.

Well, what do you mean then?

I'm grieving.

Oh. Did your mother die? One of your children? Who?

When I tell them who, they will remind me that I work in a nursing home, what do I expect? Taking time off work every time somebody dies? Are you kidding me? You'd never be at work. Suck it up Buttercup.

No, this is only the third time in almost six years. I can't even count the number of my people who have died in that time, I can't remember all their names even - yet I loved them, each and all, cared for them and about them. And I learned from them, each and all. From them all I learned. Hard, harsh lessons.

I've learned the hard way about courage, tenacity, resilience, peace, strength, endurance - and love.

It's the goodbye part I'm still having trouble with.

Yes I know all the platitudes and yes they're all true.

It's me that is the problem here, you see. It is I who am bereft, I who am grieving, I who now feels pain. I'm not yet as tough as they are. One day, if I am lucky, perhaps I will catch up to them.

Meanwhile, the lessons continue.

This year and a day is going to feel like eternity.