There is a reason why I sleep with my lamp on. The light is necessary to ward off suffocation. The dark, at times, becomes oppressive, and pain threatens to stop my breath. A light, like a beacon for help, calms me and makes me feel like I am not alone. I use a night light when I am lonely. Of the past eight days I have slept in a lighted room for four. The remaining time I spent away, and the days so revived my heart that I didn't need a lamp. I'll write more on that later. For now, I need to discuss pain.
Last Tuesday night I saw, for the first time, my father cry. He discovered that my mother is living with Bob. He asked me. Yes, I told him. It's true. He handed me my Christmas present--which, incidentally, is what my mom gave him. Fitting, I suppose, as she gave her present from him to Joyce--and started weeping. Then he drove off. Unable to breathe, I walked up the stairs and hid in the shadows. I couldn't go back inside, because only Julie was waiting there. Luckily, I had my cell phone. I tried to call Emilie, but she was on the road. I tried to call Ted, but no one answered. I fell back against the brick and slid to the floor, concentrating on stilling my sobs. The subsequent high-jinks of the night chased away the threat of breaking, but still I slept with the lamp on for the second time in a row.
Sunday night, Christmas, I cannot explain the reason. I think I left the lamp on in protest against the day ending. In all reality the time had been perfect, if also tiring. Perhaps I fell asleep before I could turn the light off.
But Monday was fraught with disappointment. I do not deal well with disappointment. That is something profound to learn about me. I am gracious when let down, but I will not forget the lesson. Two years ago I learned not to spend Christmas Day with anyone who does not love the holiday. Now I will add to it. I will not celebrate Christmas on any day with someone who does not love the holiday.
Also on that day I got to hear the poisonous remarks by both parents regarding the other. They now hate each other. Their war is a competition to see who can be the most indifferent. A cold war, as someone remarked. Mom called while I was playing a game with my brother and dad. I answered it with my dad's commentary in the background. Tell her how much fun I'm having. If only that had been the worst remark of the night. You have to find me a wife, Audrey. It's up to you. No, I protested. That is not my job. Find yourself your own damn wife. I'm only kidding, of course. I just should have done better the first time. I wanted to cry, that's my mother you speak of so derisively. Did he make it better with his retraction, if I hadn't married her, I wouldn't have you? No. I hated him for wanting to erase those twenty-seven years, for wishing my life, my family away.
I half-heartedly opened up to Ted about it when we went to Walmart. But, midnight was approaching and I didn't want to be burdensome and demanding, so I fought against the battering ram at my heart. When he lay on my sofa looking at me, I knew that if he didn't talk I would break, and breaking wasn't an option at 11:50 pm. So we spoke trivially, and he left.
And when I checked my email to find a distraction from my emotions, I found something. And it was certainly distracting. Kevin has a girl friend. My organs, previously melted in anguish, instantly solidified into molten lead. Kevin is not supposed to have a girl friend. He's not supposed to get over me. I'm not supposed to mean that little to him. I know, cognitively, that it's right he move on, that he moved on eight months ago; but I rather wished to go on believing that I mean something to him. I did not respond to the email, and instead meandered to bed.
The lamp remained on, this time on more active duty than guard. Nuora, light-giver, in full battle array. The war I fought was to keep the sobs from breaking my throat, and to keep myself from crawling into bed with Cassidy for comfort. Every time my chin started the tell-tale shaking, and my eyes stung with tears, I forced a breath into my lungs. I shivered with the exertion, using compulsion to bring relaxation. I fell asleep two hours after crawling into bed. I learned a lot about myself in that time. I learned that I can take a lot of pain and internalize it, neutralizing it slowly until it loses its toxicity.
I learned something else too.
I learned that despite the pain of the night prior, the morning is healing. That is how I know I am not depressed. I am just sad, and the hurt that comes from very definite events ambushes me in the dark alley-way of bed-time; but in daylight the shadows hold no threats, and I can continue on with my life in my usual happy manner. I can even reply to the email and tease with ridiculous follow-up questions that, come night, I will not want to know the answers to.
Pain came again tonight, but not for me. I had to observe and attempt to share. My protests against accepting a broken heart were met with the cynicism of self-preservation. Life is pain, highness; anyone who says differently is selling something. Or the less popular, because never said before tonight, life hurts, but it's good to have a dose of reality every once in a while. There will always be pain, wounds I wish I could understand, bear or heal. This evening proved that. Tonight, I know I will sleep with the light on, but it will be with the hope that my lamp could cast its rays to a distant room. Sleep well.
Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment