December 12, 1994
"The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives."
Albert Schweitzer
A year ago today I came home from Florida. After the plane landed at Logan Airport I went outside to wait for the bus. I wasn't dressed for the weather - it was cold, partly cloudy and windy with snow flurries, the sidewalk covered with snow and ice. The sun was setting when the bus arrived to take me from Boston to Barnstable, where Maggie was waiting for me - my fate entirely within her hostile hands, my future as uncertain and unclear as the weather. On the flight to Boston and on the bus ride to Barnstable, life slowly drained from my body until all that remained was a faint heartbeat - hope faded into anxiety and fear. I stopped living and silently sought death - and for the next five months I struggled to survive each day so that I could die on the day of my choosing.
For the next month, from now until my birthday, I know I'll spend part of each day thinking about what happened, "a year ago today." They are sad and terrifying memories - I do not plan to dwell on them but know that they will be impossible to avoid. So, I will try to be cautious in my contemplation and be mindful that those days have passed and I have endured - for to relive them would be painful and also harmful to my recovery.
I am a different person today than I was on that Sunday in December. I am slowly but steadily returning to life. I have small things to live for and have some hope within me - and there are some mornings when I look forward to the day. I am not cured but am getting better. I still have mental and emotional relapses that leave me exposed and exhausted, entangled in excruciating madness. But I no longer see death as the friend it once was. I want to live and that desire is my best remedy - better than the therapy and all the medications.
Divorce and death can be silent killers that can destroy the inner spirit and rob us of life. Just as my divorce was the catalyst that sent me into a spiraling descent, so, too, has my father's death sent my mother crashing downward. It is sad to see her suffer as she does. For I know what it is like to die from the inside out - it is an agonizing death.
My father loved the Christmas season. He built our family home and he made the living room large with an extra high ceiling. Every year he would buy a huge, full and beautifully shaped tree. He would spend an entire day decorating it and when he finished every light, bulb and strand of tinsel were perfectly placed. The tree looked like it came from the pages of Better Home and Gardens or Good Housekeeping.
But there are no decorations this year - no tree in the living room, no lights in he window, no wreaths on the doors, no stockings hung with care, no holly on the banisters, no mistletoe hanging from the archways. My mother is simply shuffling through this season wrapped in sorrow, draped in sadness.
The sights and sounds of this season do not bring joy to my heart. Christmas carols and warm cheers of "Merry Christmas" bring tears to my eyes. I don't know if it is the memories of Christmas past or the emptiness of Christmas present that makes me feel this way. If I could avoid this time of year I would do so. Earlier I told this to Doctor Daniels and he said, "It's understandable considering all you've gone through. If you are not joyous inside, you can't be joyous outside." I told him that what he said reminded me of a nun I had in high school who always used to say, "Nemo dat non quod habet" - you can't give what you don't have.
I wish I could capture the joy and goodwill that is so abundant, so all around me - in the coffee shop, in the mall, at the supermarket, at church, in the songs on the radio, in the lights and colorful displays on most houses and on the faces of every child I see. If I could only capture this happiness and treasure it during the weeks and months to come.
I think that what is adding to my discomfort is the fact that when I go to my mother's on Christmas Eve, the house will be full of gloom. Christmas will not be celebrated but simply acknowledge and honored. It will be a day to get through rather than be enjoyed. For to die from within can even darken the brightness of Christmas.
7:30pm - My Parents Cottage - Sandwich, MA
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