I headed out to the trail that I affectionately refer to as The Temple of Mud, Sweat and Blood today for the first time in months. It’s been a difficult week so far and I was in desperate need of peace and quiet, if only for an hour. I’ve not been able to get out on the trail in months thanks to a knee injury and won’t be doing any trail running in the foreseeable future. Today was more of a trail hobble, with knee wrapped up and walking stick for support. I think I would have went out today even if it meant crawling along the trail.
The slowness of the pace, I hoped, would give me a chance to clear my head a bit after a rough few days. There were two unrelated deaths this week, within hours of each other, that left most of the people that I know in mourning. I found myself coping well enough with the passings themselves, as neither was entirely unexpected (both had been battling serious health issues). Dealing with the level of grief and emotion of the people around me just left me drained, with no recovery time or ability to bounce back. There hasn’t been an hour without a message, call, text, or email from someone coping with these losses.
Old grief gets stirred up at times like these and it’s not going to come as a surprise that Andy’s death has been heavily on my mind this week (as it was already in my thoughts before these new losses). I was expecting a bit of flack about my last post, so it didn’t come as a huge surprise when Andy’s friend, James, called me this week and said “So, you’ve publicly admitted that you lied to a dying man?” Looking back, I realize that I did not choose my words well or carefully and left a lot open for (mis)interpretation, particularly for someone who knows only the end of the story. If I look at my previous post through that filter, I sound like even more of a jerk than (I think) I actually was. My tone was more callous than I’d intended and I can see how it could be taken badly.
After a few minutes of some very serious questions and answers, James finally summed it up with “So, you felt this intense, maddening kind of love for him that made you want to be a caretaker of all the broken bits of his soul? You felt driven all along, at the urging of your goddess, to try to give him as much comfort, solace, and healing as you possibly could, even if it meant having to lie to him about your feelings and hid from him things that you thought might hurt him? Even if it meant doing so meant that you’d have to revisit some of the most painful times of your life?” Yes, I told James, that was exactly how I felt- at last, someone gets it. At this point, James snorted loudly into the phone and said “You are so adorable” with much the same tone and meaning that folks in the southern part of the States say “Bless your heart.” (For those not familiar, these phrases both roughly translate to “My god, you are such an idiot.”). Then he started laughing, a cackle that would do any witch proud.
My temper frayed just a bit at that point and I demanded to know what was so funny. “Ais, you and that idiot Andy are. I don’t think I’ve met two such stubborn, inconsolable asses in my life.” I still wasn’t seeing the humor in this and told him so. James went on to relate the conversation in which Andy had first told him about me. “He was driven,” James stated, “by an overwhelming need to help you move past the things that had caused you pain. What I asked about being a caretaker of the broken bits of his soul, those were his words about you. The things you wanted for him… he wanted those same things for you. That was the work that he needed to finish before he died, trying to mend what was broken in you.” I ended the phone call feeling somewhat stunned and re-framing a lot of things in my head to fit this new information.
As I walked the trail yesterday, that conversation was on my mind. Then the earworm started and I could hear Andy’s voice singing Chris Isaac’s “Wicked Game” (which, hooray for piling on the irony, is the only song I’ve ever heard Andy actually sing – maybe I should have paid more attention to the lyrics at the time). At that point, I started laughing at the whole thing because it was the only thing that I could do, other than become an atheist. Oh thank you Isis, Mender of the Broken, for your ‘delightful’ sense of irony and your ability to fix the fixers. To think that Coyote makes me nervous and that I refuse to work directly with Loki because dealing with tricksters is too squicky. Leave it to the Boss of Me (TM) make those two look like mere amateurs. *snorts* Sweet and gentle mother goddess, my ass.
At the end of the day, I needed that laugh, that moment of not taking seriously something that was, at the time it happened, intense and difficult. I needed too the humor to get me through this week’s losses. One of the people who passed this week had an uncanny ability to find the humor in everything and to laugh even in her darkest hours. In facing another diagnosis of cancer, she said this: “Own your journey and find the humor in it, especially the hard parts. Laugh through the pain, laugh through the fear, laugh loudest when you’re the punchline of the joke.” Good advice from a wise lady.
[Author’s note: I’ve recorded James’ comments with his consent and full support. At least I think he consented… it was hard to tell with all the snorting and guffawing that he was doing. I think he’s probably still cackling as I write this.]