Tag Archives: loss

Alone Down There

11 Jun

Can one lose love? Like, truly lose it. I know not everyone is capable of love in the first place. That was an unfortunate realization, when it came. But the ability to share it, create it, express it, spread it… can one lose that?

Have I lost it? Am I so salty now that cynicism and pragmatism are all that is left?

That seems so stark.

But realistic.

I loved too severely and enduringly and now I’ve exhausted my cache, maybe. I’ve just run out?

I think I caught a disease, y’all, the one where you get incapable of hope. I may have to resign my optimism because yes, everyone I know will one day die, we will all hurt and our hearts will break and our bodies tear up and give out and the sparkles fade from our smiles. It is all downhill. And then your dreams begin to fade and shift and there is no and sweeping solution. There is none at all.

One more time around might do it. 

Perhaps it would be better without the expectation of love? Because life without it isn’t necessarily awful. I can love Mr. Frank and fireflies and open water. And anything else is a bonus. Maybe love can be lost, and I don’t know if I’ll find it again. Life can feel loveless in a raw way, and perhaps I’ll just settle with that fact. I’m tired, after all.

But c’est la vie. I told you me alone with my thoughts is frightening.

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Dia de los Muertos

7 Nov

Some wonderful friends hosted a lovely Dia de los Muertos luncheon on Sunday. They invited me to mourn Floyd. It makes my heart ache with love that they didn’t trivialize my loss or my pain because she was not human.

So I went and on the ofrenda or alter Frank and I hung up her name next to the others. It felt good to remember the dead, to acknowledge their passing, and to be amongst friends. It gave me some closure. Because you can’t have a funeral for a cat (though I desperately wanted to and thought she deserved it), I definitely needed that.

What an amazing and necessary holiday.

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The Most Horrible Thing In the World

7 Nov

It is the worst thing. The worst thing ever. Up til now I haven’t even been able to write about it, to speak about it; but she deserves better than that on my part.

Floyd died. Floyd was killed, rather.

Frank and I went walking and everything was fine. Returning ten minutes later, her dead body was curled up on the sidewalk in front of my house. What the fuck kind of world is this?!

I grabbed her, not believing it was true, and ran inside. I screamed so hard and so long that I actually passed out. I came to still holding her tightly in my arms, my face buried in her fur.

It’s been a long time coming. We shared 18 wonderful years together. She was my best friend in the entire world, the reason I kept going, the one who greeted me when I got home, and the one who calmed me when I was upset. She was not a cat, she was a friend.

There was anger at first, because she left me alone in this fucked up world, because I wasn’t there with her when she departed, just because the world in general is awful and lonesome and callous. But then there just was aching sadness, an emptiness, a hole where my heart used to be that now is vacant and dusty.

She hated it when I cried. She would literally walk up and smack me in the face when I cried. So I will try not to cry as I write this.

It is terribly difficult to lose a friend. Terribly. Most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m on autopilot. It’s like as soon as I had life and shit under control (I didn’t, but it felt like it for a minute) I was plunged into a world of loss and nothingness.

I keep the doors open because she hated closed doors. But she’s gone. So there is no point now.

I guess I largely feel that way. What is the point now?

But I know that’s silly, I have to move on, to get over it.

I just don’t know how. I lost my pixie. My better half. My friend. My heart.

So now I just feel like an empty shell that goes through the motions. An aching, empty, pointless shell, whose only filler is loss.

How sad and terrible is that? Who made this world, and to what purpose?

Seeds

11 Dec

“Cartooning is the art of distilling reality to its essence. There is nothing superfluous in a good cartoon. That quality makes the medium particularly well-suited for memoir: comics are like memories, in that they filter and capture only the most important details. The difference between good and bad cartooning is how well the cartoonist filters and captures. Ross Mackintosh is a good cartoonist.”

In his forward to Seeds, Brian Flies (Mom’s Cancer) explains the recent notion to use the comic book/graphic novel medium to “tell personal, powerful, true stories”. Books like Persepolis and Maus are certainly vibrant examples of graphic memiors, but Seeds is something a little different. Seeds makes you realize a story that, while it may not be similar to that of your own one day it will be. Flies writes “Seeds is about Ross Mackintosh’s family, and mine, and millions of others. That’s what good comics can do.”

And it’s true.

Seeds had me tearing up a bit as I read through it’s beautiful, simple, and bleak pages. As we are taken through the story of his father’s diagnosis, battle, and death by cancer, we get a glimpse at the true nature of life and death, parent and child, and sickness and health.

We were always meant to outlive our parents.

Mackintosh explains , “I know about gene propogation; that our bodies are just enablers, containers, to preserve our genes for the next generation. We spend our lives protecting our bodies and reproducing, to keep the thread of genes continuous. As soon as we are certain that our offspring can prosper, we become disposable. A species that cares about it’s offspring will flourish.

And there is this irony:
Those who love will be rewarded with the endless cycle of birth and death.”

So who said comic books were just for children?

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