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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
| Of Sailing that beautiful sea... |
| 06.15.05 (9:17 pm) [edit] |
|
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe--- Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew. "Where are you going, and what do you wish?" The old moon asked the three. "We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea. In my lifetime, I have endured two major bouts with seasickness. If you have spent any time at all bending over the side of a boat wishing for death, you will no doubt understand my reluctance to board a boat for an 5-hour fishing excursion in Mexico. I love to fish and was captivated by the concept of reeling one in that weighed more than I did…but, all I could think about were the waves—mile after mile of churning, rocking, and rolling waves. In the end, I decided to risk it… but, not without a significant amount of research and an armload of precautions. No alcohol or greasy foods the night before and no coffee (God forbid) in the morning. I took Dramamine (regardless of its causing drowsiness), wore the wristbands (regardless of the awkward tan lines), and took the maximum dosage of ginger capsules (regardless of the fact that I looked like a complete loser). In addition to all of this… I heeded the warning to never lose track of the horizon. My diligence paid off and I managed to spend two beautiful days on the ocean. I didn’t catch any fish, but, I recovered my sea legs and reminded myself not to give in to the fear of what might happen. The trickiest part of the entire plan was keeping track of the horizon, since it always seemed to be changing. I decided to focus on the shore instead. It seemed more solid and tangible. There were times when I became immersed in my surroundings…the color and expanse of the water, the gracefulness of porpoises swimming by, or the quiet rhythm of waves splashing against the side of the boat. Occasionally, when I looked up, the shore was not where I expected it to be and I became disoriented… almost to the point of panic. I would twist my body around and hold my breath until I saw the large rocks jutting out of the ocean. Last week, I was stopped at a traffic light and out of the blue, I felt as if I couldn’t remember how to breathe. My hands were frozen on the steering wheel and I was filled with panic. I believed for a moment that my mind was shutting down. I feared that I would dart out into traffic at the wrong time or perhaps not move at all. When the light turned green, I slowly put my foot on the accelerator. I remembered how to breathe, I did not cause any accidents, my mind did not shut down, and apparently, this would not be the day that they found me at the corner of Indiana and Pike Streets, frozen by a panic that seeped in through a crack in the window like toxic gas. I turned down the stone lane where I visit my daughter. Almost mechanically, I walked across the grass to fill the white plastic bucket from the well. I turned down the stone lane where I visit my daughter and there is no food in my refrigerator. I did not plant a garden, but, I planted some flowers for someone else to enjoy. There was no last day of school to celebrate or to mourn. The cable has been shut off and the phone does not ring. There are no longer arguments over who forgot to return the movie to Blockbuster. There is nothing left to call this house a home. It is neat and tidy and lifeless. I have clothes hanging in three different closets in three different cities. I have a daughter and a puppy who I see once a week and I cry when I leave them. I have another daughter to whom I can only show my affection by watering the flowers on her grave. In December, we shopped for clothes together. Yesterday, I shopped for a headstone. After the cemetery, I came home and laid on my bed. On the outside, I go about my life-- run errands, work, eat, talk, laugh—and it seems normal. But, inside, I feel like a paper doll or the chalk outline of a crime victim. A one-dimensional human being. My family and friends have been so wonderful and loving, but still, they will never really understand, because at the end of the day, their lives are still pretty much as they were. They cannot follow me here, just as I could not follow Ali. I have lost sight of the shore. There is no longer a field of reference. Every aspect of daily life has been disassembled and tossed overboard. I have been drifting for months and now as I search for something solid and familiar, nothing looks the same. It never will. I think that so much of my sadness has been the realization that, I have not only lost sight of the shore, but, it is lost to me forever. The stark contrast between what my life looked like before this journey began and the shattered fragments of what now holds it together is daunting. Sometimes, I get frightened by the idea that it will always feel like this. In my heart, I know that it isn’t true. I am not brave, but, I don’t want to go through life like a paper doll—I want to live it. There are a lot of things that I have yet to do and so many people who are willing to let me love them. How can I give up when I have only begun to torment Megan with my motherly advice and irritating idiosyncrasies? The Roman philosopher Seneca said that, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end". I know that it is futile to try and find my way back to the shore where this journey began. If you have spent any time at all bending over the side of a boat wishing for death, you will no doubt understand my reluctance to head out to sea. The horizon is always changing. Maybe those who make it safely to the other side are the ones who learn to ignore the churning waves and just enjoy the view from where they’re at. All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam--- Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home; 'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed As if it could not be, And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea--- |
posted by: megan (reply)
post date: 06.15.05 (9:06 pm)
I cry when i leave you too mama...i cant wait to live with you
posted by: billlyryan (reply)
post date: 06.15.05 (9:43 pm)
I could swim forever in your words. I could tread water in the depth of you. Don't take that wrong friend. I mean that inside of your grief there are those of us learning with our noses pressed to the window....
posted by: billlyryan (reply)
post date: 06.15.05 (9:45 pm)
Reply to: megan
Megan, I think you are an amazing girl. I think your mother is an amazing woman. I'm honoured to know that there are people like you and your mother around. I wish I had known your sister.
posted by: Cutter (reply)
post date: 06.16.05 (5:50 am)
"There is nothing left to call this house a home. "
Memories.
Home is where the heart is. Perhaps, in your house, you can eventually feel safe to entrust your heart to your memories, as you once did to those you created those memories with.
I wish you much continued strength.
posted by: Jodi Eckhardt (reply)
post date: 06.16.05 (6:35 am)
I was delighted to see a new post this morning! I stop by here often. Like all the others who read here, I enjoy the privelege of walking this journey with you.
God bless,
Jodi
posted by: Sue in Toledo (reply)
post date: 06.16.05 (6:59 am)
So sad and yet so beautiful. I don't know if I've ever said this before - you have a gift. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with us. I hope that putting your feelings on paper is a therapy for you.
posted by: lindy (reply)
post date: 06.16.05 (1:00 pm)
Hi, Lori.
I'm feeling pretty 'without words' right now. But only because there is little to add to the beauty before me. Keep watering those flowers, Madam... they are the twinkling foam, Ali... the endless beautiful sea and you are the sailor navigating a most treacherous storm. And what a veteran you are.
posted by: altricial (reply)
post date: 06.16.05 (6:50 pm)
"But, inside, I feel like a paper doll or the chalk outline of a crime victim."
You make me speechless. I hope you will publish. Your life, your words. Ali, Megan. A broader audience deserves to read this. Feel this. Some may need to see a chalked outline of a body in their minds to remember what they've never known. Others may simply need to know that you are there and that you have to words to express the things that they could only wish to. The things that they wish had never happened, although they did.
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 06.18.05 (10:43 am)
Reply to: megan
:( but we will be roomies again VERY soon! I can't wait either :)
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 06.18.05 (10:55 am)
Reply to: billlyryan
Your compliments and your descriptions always astound me. thank you. I imagine that someday I will look back at what I've written during this time and appreciate what a struggle it was and how far I came. thank you for keeping me company along the way.
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 06.18.05 (10:57 am)
Reply to: billlyryan
Megan... Megan is an AMAZING girl. Strong, (tough)... beautiful, tender. Even after 19 years of watching her intently... she always surprises me with a facet of herself that I didn't know was in there. I am one blessed woman to have given birth to two very amazing girls... and I am blessed to call you friend. thank you.
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 06.18.05 (10:59 am)
Reply to: Cutter
Yes... my memories will be like a bridge between my two lives... the before and the after. thank you... and you also.
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 06.18.05 (11:01 am)
Reply to: Jodi
thank you Jodi... both for reading and for your kindness all along the way. I appreciate it :)
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 06.18.05 (11:04 am)
Reply to: Sue
hi sue. it is therapy I guess... venting what I can't say outloud because it would come out as garbled and incomprehensible. maybe it makes the reality of it more tolerable. thank you for your encouragement Sue and for all of your words along the way... not to mention being such a good friend to mom. and tell Dustin... congratulations. :)
posted by: LoriSchuster (reply)
post date: 06.18.05 (11:11 am)
Reply to: altricial
you are way too kind... but thank you. these words coming from you mean a great deal. I hope that some day I will have the courage to try and get published and accomplish a dream I have had since I was about 8. I'm surprised you have found a second to sit down at your computer! Thanks again.
posted by: billlyryan (reply)
post date: 06.19.05 (5:01 pm)
Reply to: LoriSchuster
I'm always here friend...
posted by: billlyryan (reply)
post date: 06.19.05 (5:02 pm)
Reply to: LoriSchuster
With this comment of hers and the post of Ali's words, I can tell that they love their momma very much. There's alot to be said about that.
Grace, beauty, humor, strength.
Alison Haley Cloud
Nov. 16, 1987-March 1, 2005
