|
Gingkage -> Coping (4/27/2013 12:15:38)
|
Discussion thread
It was a perfect day. Not too hot. Not too cold. For once the sun wasn’t so obnoxiously bright you were blinded within two seconds of stepping outside. Perfect.
I hated it. Even the weather seemed to be against me. The one perfect day in weeks, and all I wanted was for it to be cold. Dreary. Raining buckets. I looked at the sky and glared at it, blaming it for ruining my day, even though it wasn’t the sky’s fault. The sky was what it was, and nothing it did was responsible for what happened.
I started walking, my destination a few blocks away, slightly longer if I took the scenic route through the park, but going through there got me to my final destination sooner, so I altered my path slightly.
Around me I heard parents and children laughing and enjoying the day. I wanted to scream at them. Tell them that they had no right to be happy. Not on a day like this. But they didn’t know. And just like the sky, which was still annoyingly perfect, they weren’t at fault for this day and how horrible it was.
I think some people called out to me. If they did I didn’t respond. Or maybe I did. The walk to the park wasn’t clear. I walked as if in a trance. I heard one person I was close to call out a greeting. This was one of the rare friends that everyone should have. The type of friend that can, without you even saying a word, know that something is wrong and, more importantly, know that you don’t want to talk about it.
I was vaguely aware of footsteps quickly following me, and slightly more aware of my friend walking beside me. Not asking questions. Not pressuring me to sit down, spill my guts and bawl like a baby. Just offering silent comfort by being there. I think I smiled my thanks. At least I hope I did. My friend deserved it. I hope the thanks was understood, even though I wasn’t capable of truly giving it.
I’m sure my friend was confused as we entered the park. I frequently went there when I was upset with a book or a loaf of bread. I read and fed the ducks, as the park was one of the few places that still allowed that. I would sit there and let the peaceful nature of the park in a sense wash away all of the emotions until I reached a place that I could deal with them. But today I didn’t have anything on me.
When we started approaching my final destination, I almost felt my friend’s confusion disappear. A brief glance showed sorrow, shared pain, but fortunately there wasn’t a shred of pity. That was the one emotion I couldn’t stand. If I saw that emotion, it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back and I would truly break.
I reached the walkway that was my destination and hesitated. I couldn’t do this. If I did that would make it real. I could no longer deny what had happened. And I liked my denial. It was the only thing that was keeping me sane, and I was clutching to that sanity like a drowning man to a lifeline.
A gentle hand on my shoulder, the unspoken support of my friend, was enough to bring me some stability, and gave me the strength to take one small step forward. I took a deep breath and took a second step. Followed by a third. Then a fourth. Just keep counting the steps. If I focused on how many steps I took, just the steps and nothing else, I would be able to do this. I would make it through. Ten steps. Keep counting the steps. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Don’t think about where you’re going. Just focus on the steps you’re taking. Twenty-five steps. You’ll be there soon. The destination is in sight. All you have to do is keep counting. Thirty. I’ve slowed down. My steps, which had a moment ago been normal strides at a normal walking pace, were now what most people would call baby steps. And I wouldn’t be surprised if a snail would beat me in a race.
The destination was in sight I could see it now. And I could just make out the outline of people. No. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about them. Just keep counting the steps. Don’t stop counting until you’re there. Otherwise you’ll never make it. Thirty-four steps. My friend had stopped at the opening I walked through thirty-eight steps ago, knowing both that I needed to do this, walk this pathway by myself, and also that I wouldn’t be alone when I got there. How could that be known? Right. I mentioned it the other day. The one time I allowed myself to cry. I wasn’t going to cry again. I was going to be strong and not shed so much as a single tear. Forty-two steps. The people in the distance were clearer. They saw me now. A couple of them moved to make room for me, but none of them moved towards me. They knew what my friend knew. That if I didn’t walk those last few steps alone I’d never be able to move on.
Fifty-two steps and I was there. The people that moved aside to make room for me moved closer, giving emotional support as much as receiving it. The second I arrived I felt my eyes water and my lower lip tremble. No. I wasn’t going to cry. I was going to be strong. I felt something warm and wet run down my cheek. But it wasn’t a tear. It couldn’t be. I wasn’t going to cry. Another drop of moisture that wasn’t a tear. Then another. Faster this time, almost immediately followed by another. But these weren’t tears. I vaguely felt my legs tremble slightly. I tried locking my knees but my legs were still trembling despite myself. And the non-tears were running faster than ever. I took a deep breath to calm myself down. It wasn’t the shuddering breath I heard. That couldn’t have come from me. I wasn’t crying. My nose started to run. Must be allergies. I’ll need to take a pill for them when I get home. These non-tears were making it impossible to see clearly, and my legs were trembling too hard to stand. Maybe if I sat down for a minute the trembling would stop. That must be it. I would calmly sit down until the shaking stopped.
The second I started to bend my knees I collapsed to the ground. The tears, finally unhindered by my denial of them, ran down my face quickly, and I took loud, shuddering, almost hiccuping breaths. I felt one of the others, one of my friends, kneel down beside me and offer silent support in the form of a comforting hand. There would be no judgement here. Not from them. Vaguely I heard other people crying around me. I felt more than saw everyone both give and receive comfort from the presence of the others. I finally looked up at the object I had been so long denying. I looked at the loving words and read them silently, still unable to speak due to the tears.
Ran.
Loving and loved friend and family member.
R.I.P.
|
|
|
|
