amputation
you see
it’s like this…
it’s like
some nameless, faceless doctor
sat me down
in a cold white room
surrounded by windows
and said
here’s the deal…
i can either cut off
your right leg,
or your left
you get to choose
but one of them has
got to go
now
because your two legs
,though both strong
and beautiful
and necessary,
can’t balance your life anymore
so tell me which
right now please
because people are waiting
on your decision
(don’t you feel them watching you
through all those windows?)
and your legs are
quite anxious
(understandable really)
to know which one
will be left
behind
but you must know this
and know in the deepest part
of yourself
he said,
(as he looked me in the eye
and in the heart)
that even though you have the
power
to make this choice
(and not everyone does – so
consider yourself lucky)
you are still going
to feel
for the rest of your life
like a part of you is missing.
…..
don’t you see?
it’s been a year now
more than that really
since this all began
and being with her
is like finding home
and our bodies fit
and our hearts fit
and i fit
and this is right
and i love her
and us
and this life
truly.
but i still miss him
ache for him
ache for us
ache for our children
for our life and the unmet potential
and that third child
(i always pictured another little girl)
we were pretty sure we would
one day have
and when I see an elderly couple
eating together at a
restaurant
or a young family
together doing family things
i feel something inside me
crumple
and hear this sound bubble up
from deep
inside of me
this keening, primal, animalistic sound
of mourning
of grief
of anger
for what can never be
because we won’t ever be
again
and i won’t know what his hand feels
like in mine
when we are both eighty years old
and how can that not feel like a tragedy?
and after breaking that promise
i don’t know if any other promise
can ever count
really, really count
again
because i made a choice
that wasn’t a choice at all
and i have to accept
in the deepest part of myself
that always knows the truth
that although i belong is this life
there is a huge part of me that will always belong
to that life
to him
and to be perfectly honest,
i don’t quite know what
to do about that.
I don’t think the he/she part matters. What is most important is you discover where your heart belongs. But after reading this even I can feel how torn you are. It must be heart wrenching. I hope that one day you’ll find a peace between the two.
Comment by Kelly — December 18, 2008 @ 6:03 pm
Hi Jen. I am new to reading your blog, and this post made me want to leave a comment. The messed up thing is that I really don’t know what to say, other than I that all of your emotions were articulated perfectly in this post and that I thought it was beautiful and painful at the same time.
My heart goes out to you.
J
Comment by Jess — December 18, 2008 @ 6:06 pm
It evolves. Don’t focus on this pain right now and think that it will be yours forever. It’s like a wave & right now, especially this time of year, it’s at its peak. It will get easier, I promise you. You will be just fine.
You’re not alone. So many hugs to you.
Comment by greg — December 18, 2008 @ 6:19 pm
Yes, yes, yes. This really spoke to me. Thank you for writing this and sharing it with us.
Sometimes I wonder too, and miss old lives. I’ve had many of them, as most of us have. Moving around a lot as a young child and then as an adult leaves me with a longing that I have created for myself and will likely carry with me forever.
Relationships, work, school, homes, family, the entire life I build has been destroyed and recreated so many times. It hurts, this loss, this change, and then eventually it hurts a little less and the broken heart begins to emanate strength and experience and wisdom rather than just plain old pain.
Comment by honey — December 18, 2008 @ 7:12 pm
This is beautiful, in a heart-wrenching way. To have to choose, to have to make a choice that does not seem like a choice at all, it just shatters…Perhaps we do not choose, but BECOME. The past, the what-could-be’s can be a frame, albeit a constricting one. They provide a reference, a measure, and perhaps there is more. Metamorphosis is hard. ((hugs))
Comment by J — December 18, 2008 @ 11:16 pm
Tender hearted Jen…I think I have shared this poem with you before, one of my favorite poets and poems.
-janet
Wait by Galway Kinnell
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
Comment by Janet — December 19, 2008 @ 12:36 am
i know of what you speak. all i can say is focus on what makes you feel right in the world and not on what does not. grab on to the love and let it rewrite the stories over time.
Comment by tongue-tied — December 19, 2008 @ 1:43 am
oh! and remember that it isn’t all just one or the other …
Comment by tongue-tied — December 19, 2008 @ 1:44 am
I love you with all my heart. You know that. This post has been a long time coming, my friend. I am so glad you got a chance to write it out. I will never tell you the pain will go away, because I don’t know. In fact I don’t think grief ever really fades, we just find new ways of coping and sometimes momentarily forgetting. Because I have been in your same situation (and in some ways I feel responsible for yours) I can tell you that even though I didn’t love my him the way you love yours, I loved the thought of a complete (accepted as normal) family unit. I wanted that little girl too. Now all is uncertain, but so right. So right. Focus on your heart, your now-family and her. Honor your grief. And never stop loving him or yourself.
I love you. C.G.
Comment by Your friend forever — December 19, 2008 @ 7:00 am
Aw J, you made me cry! Made my heart break just a little. I know you are happy, but I can imagine that you miss S very much at times. *Sniff*
Comment by Rebekah — December 21, 2008 @ 3:14 pm
some of your most authentic words yet, which means you are continuing to grow. you are strong and vulnerable at once, to me the most powerful combination.
i offer this quote that i just saw on your sidebar. fitting, i think:
“”We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” ~joseph campbell
love you.
Comment by MereMortal — December 21, 2008 @ 10:27 pm
Wow! What an amazing piece of writing!
Comment by B — December 21, 2008 @ 11:51 pm
Wonderful.
Vulnerability is strength
BB
X
Comment by Butch Boo — December 24, 2008 @ 1:35 pm
no wise words from me. you said it all in your post. just take care, feel what you feel and gain the wisdom and the strength to move forward. poet.
Comment by poet — January 5, 2009 @ 2:34 pm