Another one for the Archives (6/17/13)

This is another one that to me, is painful and beautiful- worthy of uploading here. The setup here is that I’d been absolutely ignored after first agreeing to meet with me and my therapist. When I told her that I’d rather go to an Al-anon meeting (because of her first wife, not our families) so that we’d both be in an equal room without invading each other’s space, I must have scared her because I never really heard back, even though I would have checked out a different idea if she’d offered one.

This was written while Wi-Phi was in surgery, and I was just as fried as I have ever been in my life. The tone is urgent because I was wracked with anxiety because I’d told her that I needed a deadline to say “yes,” “no,” or “shut the hell up and don’t rush me.”

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I asked you to meet my deadline so that I could have some proof that you would think highly enough of me to respect my wishes. When you didn’t respond, I knew that for whatever reason, you have not seen a single thing that is positive about working all of this out, even though you have said that you want to engage in my process and seemed to mean it for a day or so. I am tired of living in the box where I cannot emote. That every emotion is strung out into a series of reasons why I must not be feeling what I say I’m feeling.

Dana was trying to give you a book she found of classic American sheet music; when you didn’t respond to her, I realized that you might have thought I was trying to get to you through her. Nope, this wasn’t even my idea and I didn’t corner the market on hurting about this thing.

You need to challenge your own assumptions about me, because I come across a lot differently on the page than I do in person. For the last few years, you have only known my writing personality because I didn’t think I was strong enough to let you into my inner sanctum with the possibility of it being ripped to shreds. It is as if the pen (or keyboard) and paper is the blast proof zone. I can look at my own emotions without flinching because the landmines stay untripped.

I need you to challenge the thought that you are always big, you are always in charge, and when I try to assert dominance, it is not a slam against you. My thought process is “if I’m so star-spangled awesome, why don’t you want to elevate me?” I would hope you’d want me to feel like I had some power in the relationship. Because that’s what all relationships are- establishment of a soft constantly rolling hierarchy.

On Tuesday, I am going up to the top of Mt. Tabor around 7:00.

When Ellie and Quinn died, you sent me a note that said what you wanted and needed from me more than anything was to just sit there and be quiet next to you. Enjoy clove cigarettes and whiskey in the utter quiet without saying anything. Just. Be.

It is a different time and place, but I hope that you still want to sit next to me without saying anything. I’ve said enough for three lifetimes.

I would like you to join me, but that’s not a requirement. I figure, I can open the door to reconciliation, but I can’t make you walk through it. If you don’t show, I will sit there until I feel better, then I’ll pour the whiskey on the ground and walk away.

If you do show, my hope for this meeting is that absolutely nothing gets done. Like I said, I’ve written enough. I will sit there with my whiskey and know it’s a moment and shut the hell up.

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Epilogue
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…and in case you’re wondering, I sat on the bench with two shots’ worth of whiskey in the caldera of Mt. Tabor for about an hour. As promised, I poured one of them on the ground and walked away. Then, when I got home, I divided the shot into three parts. My Dana and my best friend shared it with me. It. Was. Perfect.

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