How do you move on after such a massive disturbance in the force?
i have no fucking idea. But i can tell you some of the things i’ve found myself doing over the past few days…
Therapeutic Vandalism: Dropping a bottle opener into the casket at the visitation. Because he was never very good at removing the twist-off caps…
Blasphemy: As a militant atheist, he would have been unhappy about the full Catholic mass funeral. But it wasn’t for our benefit, and certainly wasn’t for his, so we sat in the back and tried to contain the snark as best we could. i made quiet hissing noises as the priest splashed drops of holy water on the box at the front of the church. When the priest said “He loved animals…” Studley muttered “… but he was acquitted!” under his breath. Mouthing the words to the “Gilligan’s Island Theme Song” as the congregation sang “Amazing Grace”. There were no lightning bolts. THAT was amazing.
Bipolarity: Smiling and crying simultaneously while seeing old photos of my dead friend. Pictures of him as a young boy shown at the memorial service. Pictures of him as a graduate engineering student. A goatee? Facial hair? Really? Whoa…
Doing puzzles: Not the cardboard variety, but fact puzzles. Locating bits of information. Sorting out what is true, versus speculation. Without stepping on the grief of others, this is a delicate operation – and patience is required. For each nugget of truth unraveled, we answer one question, but uncover five more questions. This is a losing proposition, but we can’t help it. Why, why, WHY the fuck did he do this?
“Eastwooding”*: i had a rather extensive conversation with an empty chair on my deck yesterday afternoon. Called that chair a Dumbass. Asked that chair “why?” and “how did we miss the depth of your despair?” Eventually told that chair i was really sorry he’d suffered so much. The chair remained defiantly silent. i decided i should go inside. Put some clothes on, too…
OCD-Zombie: Spent today excavating The Girl’s bedroom**, to make it habitable for The Boy when he returns between work assignments on the road. “Clear the shelves on the bookcase in the theater room. Haul the books from the bedroom to the theater room. Arrange books on shelves, tallest to shortest. Repeat. Stare at dog. Start a load of laundry. Move more books. Haul trash to dumpster. Return to laundry room to put detergent into washing machine, after cycle is nearly complete. Stare at cat…”
Get out: Studley and i both needed to get out yesterday. Went to a local Reggae festival. Danced half-heartedly. Mostly hung on each other. Got rained on. Barely noticed.
Use your passport: Preparing for a vacation with my best friend, dive buddy and lover***. Remote island in the Caribbean. Diving. Reef sharks, rays, technicolor fish. Private beach. Drinking ourselves into a benign, mind-numbed stupor. And crawl inside our heads a little bit…
* In case you missed it, Clint Eastwood was the surprise speaker at the Republican National Convention last week. An improvised monologue with an empty chair – an implied conversation with the President. Link to the video is here if you need help staying awake at night… This is some creepy shit.
** Nothing depressing about THAT, is there? She was in town for three weeks before returning to her home in Turkey. Loved having her with me, and miss her now that she’s gone. Won’t see her again until… our next Skype date.
*** No. Only one person – not three different people. Although that would be a helluva vacation, wouldn’t it?
Trailer Park Refugee 