8:05 p.m. - 12/21/03
however far away, I will always love you..*
It's weird this year. I didn't stumble across a little dog that pinched a memory of the one she used to throw my way when things got difficult, the one she even let me borrow the weekend I had to go to D!@#$%^ on pass. I didn't buy yarn in a dye lot she used to crochet. I don't have a doctor to talk with about her. I called Sara and I meant to call Beth... I called Sara because we haven't talked in so long, and I didn't know how she was, and it's important to make that not the case. She surprised me; as we talked, she sounded good, and I felt odd, being the Not Ok One. I know that it doesn't work that way; we really can't compare because I'm in one situation and she's in another, and there's no way of justly judging, even if it made sense to judge. It won't do any good to judge, so it doesn't make sense. From what Sara said, she's protecting herself right now by staying angry at everything that goes against her recovery; I've done that before and it makes sense to me. Somehow, I ended up believing that this plan included shutting out the reality of what happened to Tracy two years ago today. Maybe because when I started to tell her about what happened with the letter, she freaked out and asked if it was ok for her to just not hear about it right then. I was totally amazed, and I told her she didn't even need to explain; I knew just what it was like to need someone to stop talking, and I wasn't usually able to say it the way that she had just done, and so of course I would honor it. I told her about the note that followed up the letter, how it was better... I said Tracy's name twice, but she didn't pick it up herself. I'd planned to call Beth, in the way that I sort of plan things I don't always do because they're things I almost never do; basically, I imprinted in my mind that calling Beth was an option. The way that calling Shannon or a thousand other people is an option. I just figure Beth knows, as much as I wish she didn't. I just figured maybe I could stand being "the weak one" for the length of one phone call...with her. I know it's not really an issue of weakness. I know that really this is just about where I'm at; I'm at a place where Jenna's reality, Sara's reality, Rosie's reality, Dixie's reality, Silje's reality, Tracy's reality, my reality...they all come in at pretty much full intensity. I can protect myself when I need to - or I can sometimes - I screw up occasionally, like when I can't say, "I need to not hear this." On the phone with Silje the other day, when she started to tell me again about what Dave said to her and a few of the other residents on first floor after Tracy's wake, feeling just as I had the first time, like the ground was coming out from under me, like my mouth was saying, stop, stop, stop, but somehow the sound wasn't pushing through. I want to know, which makes it hard. I want to know every detail I can; I archive memories, even ones that aren't my own. I want to know even when it hurts, but I also don't want to feel the pain. Not constantly. Not so fully as thinking all at once of Tracy and Tracy's life and Tracy's death and Tracy's relationship with Dave and Dave's past and Dave's life and my relationship with Dave and Dave's words and Silje's response and my relationship with Silje and my relationship with Tracy and the fact that I didn't make it to that wake and wasn't in that office that day, wasn't at Rogers, wasn't in Wisconsin at all. Last night, I lay in the dark and cried and told her over and over again how sorry I am, sorry for such a number of things I have trouble keeping track. I thought about my grandma's death, then, and I wondered if there will ever come a time where all I have to say to Tracy and to whatever-I-believe-in about Tracy is thank you, the way it was with Grandma. Now, there are still so many things to say. So many I-wish-I'ds, I'm sorrys, and I-hopes. So many questions for her...are you ok? Do I need to overcome the rules of life and death and bring you back here or would that be like having someone take you out of Rogers into D!@#$%^? Do you know that I love you? Do you know how I can love you, love you in a way that isn't just stuffed dogs and crocheted scarves, more effectively express that love? Do you know I'm sorry that I grow all dark and deep talking to you about what happened because you were light and bright and really, around you, all I could want is to feel uninhibited, so I could take you to do something light and fun, so I could take you dancing, spinning under lights to fast music I only like in context. December 21st. It's the only date I have for you, other than the date we met. 21 really is the perfect number for our party girl. And now you are 19. And now you are...missed. But she knows all of this. I wrote her a letter today; that's where all my actual words have gone, onto a piece of purple stationery that says "they told me to tell you - they're waving" at the top, into an envelope addressed to her first and last name, and the description Tori gave in her improvised intro to "Your Cloud." The Brave family is growing. I mean what I say about the name being like a sometimes silent letter; I have no need for people to use it, though so far I've only had reason to feel joy when they do. But I told Tracy she's my sister, and I feel that as a truth. They mean a lot, those girls. I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain. I'm mailing a few Christmas cards to people I don't hear from, and I'm waiting on two other addresses I have, for fear of landing in another scary situation. There's no real reason to fear one girl's fate more than another's; I've never (preemptively) seen pain coming to those it has... still, I felt it fair to give myself some slack and wait where I'm afraid. There are people I want to contact, though. Tori (not-Amos) is one of them. I have a phone number for her, and though a call from me would most likely shock her some, I think she'd receive it happily. I feel this would be good. I didn't know her well enough. I want to know her better. And I think of everyone, she may have known Tracy best. I could be wrong, but I wonder and I want. Tracy was also...really grateful for Jenny, who she couldn't have known for more than...two weeks of Rogers time. Jenny was one of the two I didn't dare write. Yet. Jenny and Chelsea. I know I always end up saying screw security for the possibility of love, but maybe this time I'm exercising just the slightest caution. Maybe I'm waiting until the doctor is back in his proper place, back to being the safety net below this tightrope, before I call out more names, more stories, more pains, losses, successes and loves. New people, too. There are new people in my future, too...
Today is the Second Annual I-Love-Tracy-Day. All those who celebrate smile. All those who celebrate love. Love to the point you can feel your heart more distinctly than its beat; you can feel its rhythm, its tempo, its dynamic as well. All those who celebrate know that nothing breaks family as true as this, even if the members of that family didn't have time to know what they meant to each other before the loss. Know that no one can go as Tracy went without leaving people like Dave and Tori and Sara and me to miss them and to reach into the empty air. I made her a promise today, though. To believe. I was just about to ask her how I could help, and it came to me that she can't come in if I don't believe. I'm going to work on believing. I'm going to keep secure my family, my Home. I'm going to find a way to dropkick the Aunt Sue voice that's piped up today with ills I supposedly caused Sara and the poor excuse for friendship I offer. I'm going to dropkick it and replace it with love.
A week from today, it will be two years and four months since I met her. We'll enter our third year of mystery, of grief and love. I'm ready, so long as I'm not the only one.
chord
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