WYG Day 6: Kindness

Kindness

One day, maybe years from now, maybe mere hours or days, I will be lying on the floor, sobbing, for maybe years, maybe mere hours or days, and then I will realize That One has learned to speak.

That One will have become more solid, much more solid than the others ever became. That One will take an androgynous shape, hair sometimes flowing, other times shaved close to bald. Eyes will be red sometimes, most of the time. But the first time That One speaks, That One became solid, even as That One’s hair morphed, eyes flashed, smoking still lingering as a kind of clothing it wore, solid, sheer, flowing, and That One’s eyes became the saddest grey color.

I feel the palm of a firm loving hand on my back, and it feels so comforting and warm and safe, I don’t second guess what is happening. The hand is rubbing my back, and I feel my whole body release tension and I cry out all the pain I had wound in my muscles. And then I realize, I am alone with my grief shadows.

I look up and see That One sitting beside me. I sit up, startled, and scramble away from That One. That One holds up two pale hands in a calming gesture.

“Hey,” That One says, in a garbled wet sound and That One cleared its throat. 

I sat there, staring at That One.

“You can talk?” I say.

That One morphs again and smiles. “I can.”

“So, why now?” I ask.

“Because it was time,” That One says.

“Time for what?” I ask. “Time for me to be okay?”

That One smiles grimly. “Okay? You will never be okay again. Sorry about that.”

I sit back, surprised. “Then why are you talking to me? Why are you comforting me?”

“Because it’s clear you need some help,” That One says.

“How are you going to help me?” I ask.

“I’m not,” That One says, “But I am going to teach you about being kind to yourself.”

I sit up. “What do you mean?”

“You are so gentle and kind to others who are hurting,” That One says, “So I know you know what to do and how to say it and everything. You just need to apply those things to yourself.”

“But I should be over this,” I say.

“Why?” That One asks simply.

I stare at That One.

“Because I should be,” I say, “I’m being a baby about this. I shouldn’t be still laying around, sad and mopey. I should have my house clean. My kids should be doing better with school and with helping in the house. My husband should be happier. But instead, I am here, moping.”

That One stands, their clothing morphing into long draping columns of rich looking fabric. “So, by that logic, Sarah’s family should be over it. Tyler’s friends should not be sad at the thought of never seeing him again. Lula’s teachers shouldn’t feel the devastating loss of such a young bright person?”

“Of course not, “ I snap, “that would be ridiculous. They should take as much time to grieve as they need to. They won’t ever be over this.”

That One squats next to me and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “And neither will you.”

“But…”

“But what?” That One asks. 

“Does this mean you are only here to teach me a lesson?” I ask.

“No,” That One says, “I and my fellow grief shadows will never leave you. See that one?” They point a long finger at a particularly bedraggled one. “That One has been with you for a long long time, and its twin is newer,” That One points to an identical but fresher looking one, “But they were both borne out of the same pain.”

That One gathers some smoke and wraps it in their hands and then pushes it out toward the shadows, who intertwine with it, and build from the ground up an image of my first love, Ryan.

I stand, shocked.

“Ryan,” I say, going to him. I put my hand on his shoulder and my hand goes through.

“He is, unfortunately, not real,” That One says. “But your love for him is as real as the grief you felt that bright sunny day in the second floor stairwell of the private school you went to, when you told him that you loved him, and he told you that he couldn’t be your boyfriend.”

I look at Ryan and I recall the desperate heartbreak I felt that day. 

“He was just a boy,” I try to shrug it off, but I and That One know that I cannot.

“And then when you found out he died,” That One says, “And you got in touch with his sister and she told you that he loved you as much as you loved him, but that he was gay and he couldn’t love you the way you wanted him to.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask, frightened.

“Because I am as much a part of who you are right now as Ryan was of who you would become,” That One said. 

“So what now?” I ask.

“You need to learn to be kind to yourself,” That One say. “You need to learn to live in harmony with This One, and with them,” That One gestures to the other shadows. I watch sadly as the two that are my grief over Ryan dissolve into their former shapes.

“But how?” I choke, my throat tightening with the tears I thought I had left behind the day that I fould out that Sarah, Lula and Tyler were murdered.

“You start by allowing yourself to feel,” That One says, “You let yourself have your emotions. What do you tell your son? You tell him it’s okay to have emotions. There is nothing bad about emotions, it’s what you do with them.”

That One waves their hand in the air and clears the smoke, showing my house, my messy messy house, with so much to be done to make it livable and tolerable so my anxiety from before isn’t so triggered.

“Why are you showing me this?” I protest between sobs.

“Yesterday,” That One says, “you had energy to do some work. But you felt so overwhelmed.”

I sit down, nodding.

“But you did what you could do, and for a brief moment, you were kind enough to yourself to tell yourself that it was enough to do just that,” That One says, “You have to let yourself just do what is enough for you in this moment. And in the next. And the next.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” I croak.

“It has to be,” That One says, “ANd who says it’s not enough?”

That One watches me cry again and then begins to rub my back, soothingly. I cry as much as I can and then I finally stop. I touch the skin around my eyes and it’s so puffy, I wouldn’t be surprised if the next day it’s black and blue.

“Okay,” I say, “I will try.”

That One smiles. “And that is enough.”