🔵 By Timothy Brunner. Photo by lauragrafie.
Something on my mind today is on awareness of my lack of memorabilia. I possess very few pictures, almost no mementos, nor any other such collectibles that many people hold onto in order to serve as a G.P.S guide on trips down memory lane. No, I am left rudderless upon the ocean of events that have craded my soul and raked my body over the shoals of my memory. Perhaps God’s way of preparing me for this lack of assistance with recollection was His gifts of a memory that is less forgiving than I am. I cannot forget.
This particular time of year is difficult for me. Not due to the over-used excuse of the Holidays being hard because blah, blah, blah… No. This is a more particular, more definite and specific, more personal difficulty. My greatest love was born in 12-15-82; I was born 12-18-81, and she committed suicide on 12-19-12. this week is always a hard week for me to work through.
I say work through because this week, every year, I pull on all of the mementos I do not possess, I look at all of the photos I never took, and I sail the seas of Clio without benefit of a map. I revisit all those places I can no longer go, I remember all of the things I never did, and I plan for what I never want to happen.
I acknowledge the futility of it all. I recognize the senselessness of self-flagellation. I am not so down trodden as to assign a nobility to pain just for the sake of giving reason to my suffering. I believe the only nobility that can be found in such suffering is in the reason for it or the good that may come from it. It’s purpose. What is the reason for my suffering? What good do I hope can come from this? I suffer for and from love. That is my reason. I love deeply, profoundly… I look to what and who I love for the reason to draw my next breath. Any good that I do I look to accomplish for the sake of the love that gives my life a purpose. I have to look to such a self-sacrifice because I am now living the natural consequence of my own self-centeredness. That consequence is a living death; by living until I die in prison because of love of self.
This week, each year, I remember my selfless love for another (12-15-81), my selfish love of my life (12-18-81) and the death of my love (12-19-12) due to the death of my life by my own choice. I remember how my love for another person made me want to be a better human being. That is what her birthday reminds me of. That leads me to thinking about other times that I have let that love she gave me shine throughout my life. Times when I helped care for a friend dying from Parkinson’s and easing his journey out of this world. I revisit the shores of a world where I raised and trained service dogs for medical alert or home companions for someone with special needs. I return to a land where I helped my mother obtain sobriety and build a healthier lifestyle.
So many things I have done in the spirit of the love she shared with me, and I travel those seas to remind me of life. Then I move on to celebrate my birthday. The waters get a little muddy here and it’s a little cloudy at times. I take a scenic cruise through times when I ignored all of that life and only looked to what I wanted. I made more money than I ever needed. I had power and what I thought was respect. Control was an illusion and feat was masquerading as respect, so those I thought were friends were just enemies awaiting an opportunity. I turned to violence in anger and to vengeance in spite. The scenes of this trip are dark, but it leads into what follows.
On the day my old love took her own life I find a port, I dock, and I visit the graveyards of my people. I remember the death of a woman who didn’t deserve to die. In that senselessness I see my callousness and my complete lack of compassion. I also think of my sister who could not accept the world that I had created. She couldn’t escape my world, so she ended hers. I think of not just the deaths that I share responsibility in, but also the hope, the love, the sense of safety and security, the faith in other people, and all of the other forms and pieces of love I have taken from others. How many times have I killed some part of another’s life because of my selfish disregard? I don’t know, but I do strive to remember.
Now, if all of this is my reasoning, my purpose, what good is to came of it? If the purpose of my suffering is to remember the good and the bad, where is the nobility in any of it? Maybe there is none because I am sure as Hell not noble! I’ll tell you that with 100% surety! I do try to use the good times as my guide and the bad as my warnings. I try to remember where I have come from in order to see where I am going more clearly.
I do not believe I am noble, but I do believe I can be a good person. Maybe this is just a matter of perspective, but I’m not much concerned with living a good life anymore. I am just trying to die gracefully. Man, I can’t wait for Christmas!