Fallen

Half the trees in this town are dead. The ice-storm glazed their branches with layer after layer of glistening snow until the weight of all that beauty caused them to crack completely. The glittering ground is littered with dead debris. A natural disaster.

I came home last night. I was exhausted. They said I needed to take care of myself. I listened. I should not have come home. I shouldn’t have listened.

Passed out on the bed with the cordless receiver in my hand. The snap of dying trees punctuated my dreamless sleep until I awoke. The window lit up like a solid neon sign. A flash of orange, unlike anything I’d ever seen. Is the entire town under siege? I thought this was a private war. Who would drop a bomb on an innocent little Canadian town? Right before Christmas, too. What heartless terrorists have targeted us?
The clock stopped torturing me with time. No power.

But I must be connected to the alien ship! My fiancé was taken aboard twenty-four hours ago. The aliens, in their blue uniforms, are torturing him. What have I done? Why am I here?

The land line. I fetched it from the emergency supplies kit and plugged it in. There is a dial tone. Mr. Bee, my sister and I called it when we were kids. That was many years ago. That moment, when Mr. Bee buzzed at me, was days, no, hours ago. I listened to the trees die until I passed out again. Woke to the ringing of the telephone. And then I knew. The aliens will not release him after all.

Taxi was waiting when I burst out the front doors of the apartment building, panting from running down many flights of stairs. Don’t slip goddam it! The taxi company had prioritized me. Everyone needs a taxi this time of year. It’s the holiday season! The town was dark; no twinkling lights for anyone. As it should be. Just the sparkle of frozen snow where the headlights granted it a festive spot dance.

I was too late. Because I never should have left. They let me see the carcass. Almost all the tubes were removed, but the catheter was still in place. He hated that thing. I examined him. He was bruised; the evidence of torture was everywhere. The weight of all that pain broke him. I sat with the body, for no good reason. He wouldn’t have liked it but he wasn’t there to forbid it. I did not pray.

The deadly silence was shattered by the crack of branches, loud as claps of thunder. The giant tree at the entrance of the ship had broken. I watched with dull amazement. Was this for him? For me? Should I be grateful for this obvious metaphor: even the strongest living creature can be brought down by the force of nature. I could have laughed. No . . . I did laugh. How was it possible that this all happened at the very same time? Was I being mocked, or comforted? Did any of it have anything to do with me? Probably not. Not even the dead thing; not really.

I took his medic alert bracelet and left.

“Daddy died,” I tell the cat. I fall on the bed. If I sleep, I’ll have to wake up and remember. I don’t want to forget, not even long enough to get some rest. I cry in anguished bursts. This isn’t happening. This thing that happened isn’t happening. I sit up. All I have to do is find him.

Grope my way around the apartment. My hands press hard to the wall, for support. If I have to, I’ll search for him on my knees, but I don’t. I can stay upright, with the walls, the furniture, for help. How is it that this place has magically doubled in size? But he’s here somewhere, I just have to keep my eyes peeled. He isn’t here. He was an atheist. He isn’t anywhere. Just gone. My eyes don’t like being peeled. They fill with tears.

Oh I’m so silly. He’s in a drawer in the bowels of the Mother Ship. I need to go back there and visit him again. It’s common sense.

Or not. This must be the thing called grief. I make my way back to the bedroom. Need to remember that phrase, “make my way.” Use it properly, in the future, or maybe not at all.

Christ, how can it be that there are any branches left? Yet the noise draws me to the window. Interesting, the dead tree, where the hawks live, stands tall. You’d think it would be the first to fall but you’d be wrong.

The medic alert bracelet is on the bed. My first Christmas gift for him. It’s white gold, diamond cut. We laughed at the idea of him wearing jewelry. He loved it. He loved me. The bracelet slips easily onto my wrist. My tattoo, “M” for Michael, goes well with white gold. I rub the tattoo. I kiss it. He isn’t here.

It’s dark. The neon light that lit my window was the generating station blowing up. The great trees on King Street took it out when they collapsed. My taxi driver said so. The town has no power. We are all powerless. This much has been made very clear to me. I get it, okay? This is my only prayer.

So I stand and watch the trees snap and die. Between these sharp punctuations, everything is silent but the steady beat of my treacherous, broken heart. I want the noise to stop.

All pictures are of the Ontario December 2013 Ice Storm

1 @BenNollWeather (Twitter)
2 @JeremyGlobalTV (Twitter)
3 anglicanusefranciscan.blogspot.com
4 @MartinBPhoto (Twitter)
5 @vaughanweather (Twitter)
6 thebluebrick.ca
7 www.theatlantic.com

Love

One of the best thing about www is the support system that clicks into place when one of us is down. The Global village can = One World. While I believe it's an invitation to insanity to try to care about everybody at all times, I know I can focus on individuals and specific issues and lend my support where and when it's needed most. It's extraordinarily moving to be the one who needs support and find it here, and there, and also over there. I'd say 2/3 (conservative estimate) of the kindness that encourages me to keep moving forward arrives via various forms of media.

On Twitter, someone with no agenda beyond kindness has taken it upon himself to tweet me every morning and every night. "Good morning, how are you?" "Good night. Try to get some sleep." On my "vanilla" facebook site, old friends, many of whom I haven't seen in decades, post condolences. "Stay strong, prairie girl," from a pal in my hometown of Winnipeg, reminds me that I come from a place where everyone endures hardship because of the extreme weather. (I am from "Friendly Manitoba.") On Madeline Moore's facebook site, colleagues of Michael's and mine let me know that Felix Baron's death and Madeline Moore's suffering matter to them. This began on Christmas Day!

Friends and family call me on the phone. Condolence cards arrive in the mail. A dear friend, close to my heart though I haven't seen him since 1981, sent money. This is far beyond the rules of etiquette but artists don't necessarily live by the rules of etiquette. So I don't have to reject it with feeble protests. I can accept it with effusive thanks.

The owner at the school where I tutor part-time and my Madeline Moore editors have tossed their "boss" hats aside, shaken out their hair (those who have hair) and signed their cards and emails with love and xxx's and ooo's.

Sometimes, when the isolation becomes oppressive, I call a friend and ask her to meet me for coffee and a chat. We all need face time and physical contact. I hope this will always be the case for the human race.

But love is in the air. Kindness doesn't have to be wrapped in a pretty parcel tied with a velvet bow and hand-delivered. Kindness can be a word from a new follower who knows what it's like to lose someone (and don't we all know what that's like? Hasn't tragedy come crashing down on all of us?) I believe it's part of being human. One of the great truths of the Buddha is: Life is suffering.

I am suffering. But I've always held on to the overly-simplistic words sung by the Beatles (and before them, by other voices, throughout time) "Love is all you need." It's not deep, it's not impressive, the words aren't even mine. But it's true.

When I came home from the hospital, the morning Michael died, I collected the Christmas presents I'd purchased for my friends and family and tagged them with post-it notes. This is for my eldest daughter. This is for my youngest. For Michael's girl. For my best friend. I tossed a few things down the chute that were nobody's business but my own, now that my partner in passion was no more. I put a note on the freezer door, indicating who to call to pick up my cat.

I sat down and began to think. Was there still time to catch up with Michael and go wherever we go next, together? Was there really any point in disappearing into and then battling my way back from grief? Had I, like Michael, simply "had enough"?

I know how Jerzy Kizinsky committed suicide. I'm pretty sure he did his research first. His method is foolproof, if you don't cop out half-way. Would I cop-out halfway and end up blind but serene? Or a vegetable, incapable of thought or movement? I was alone. Nobody knew Michael was dead. To me, it was a matter of now or never. Make your choice.

My kids, my cat, my 88 year old Dad, my emancipated slave/sister - these are the people that helped me make the right decision. I picked up the phone.

But you, and you, and you - you are the ones who help me believe I made the right decision. Your kindness keeps me going. This is no trivial matter. Please take a moment, right now, to acknowledge that you have done a good thing. You are proof that love is all we need.

This post was inspired by Kerry Bell, Brewt Blacklist and Bruce, but it is for all my friends all over the world. It's for you. Thank you.

The Beatles: Love


Love, love, love.
Love, love, love.
Love, love, love.

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy.

Nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It's easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

Nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

All you need is love (all together, now!)
All you need is love. (everybody!)
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need (love is all you need).

Yee-hai!
Oh yeah!
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.

Electronic heart photo: salon.24