I don’t want to keep thinking about the incredibly complex relationship we had. I’m tired of closing my eyes and seeing murder and suicide and feeling guilty because I was 5 minutes too late. For feeling anger because I couldn’t ease the pain or stop the bullets or the bully.
Retrospect f*&ks with me every day.
I don’t want to be reminded consistently of the intense pain and complicated antics that we went through. Or the fact that after 25 years, three children and one hell of a weekend that he and I finally boiled it all down to a 15 year old girl who fell in love with a 16 year old boy and those two adolescent turned oft times dysfunctional behaving adults had finally figured out the key to what make us work.
Moments before “they lived happily ever after” or maybe “happily never after” his after was murdered before matrimony.
I wanted to marry that man the day after I met him. Now he’s gone and every day I hear his proposal, “I’m going to marry you SoKey, you’re going to marry me” a demand, not a request. A proposal 25 years in the mother f*&king making and G*d-Damnit I earned that f*&king proposal. “No one will ever get me like you do” “You put me in my place, you didn’t let me get away with anything” “I’m going to take care of you forever girl” “You and Me SoKey” I checked him and kept his balls in place.
He was crazy about & without me.
I don’t even know if it was ordained by God. But it was stolen by the devil.
I don’t want to silently tremble tears inside each time I watch a movie and the main character speaks of or experiences loss, or falls in love, or breaks up.
I don’t want to be so deeply affected by grief or loss. “Soooo Keeeeyyy”
But I will be.
And for the rest of my life.
So it’s best I understand that now, a little over a year into this hideous night and daymare.
I find myself wanting to start my life over to live again and be in a relationship, and then I find myself huddled beneath my covers crying uncontrollably because I gave so much of me to a man who is dead.
It’s a deep bone aching pain and not even chemotherapy and radiation can repair the damage done to the cancerous cells of grief growing inside my body, dividing and metastasizing my heart and memories.
I don’t remember one bad day. How can I not remember one fight? One bad moment? They were there but damn me if I can easily recall them.
What’s truly f*&ked up is that it’s not 24-7, it’s intermittent, unscheduled and unbridled. In the middle of a monumental moment of happiness tears will escape without warning.
I know I have grown exponentially from this experience. I know the next relationship I enter will be cultivated through the love I had and unfathomable loss I experienced. I will take the missteps we made, the regrets I had and the desire not to repeat mistakes or be held back by not saying what’s on my heart when it strikes my heart and build upon those missed moments.
There’s nothing worse than knowing there was so much more to say and at that same time I’m grateful for being the woman I am who did say what I had to say when it meant the most. I’m proud of her, the woman who swallowed her pride and fought to love.
I am angry.
But I am confident he died knowing he was loved unconditionally – despite his sometimes bad behavior. He died knowing I understood and loved him from his soul. He died knowing I would have fought for him had I been there, in that livingroom, on that day because I loved him that much.
He died knowing his love had settled on the hearts of me and the children he fought to know, to be involved with, to father.
He is resting in peace but I am warring inside torn up because he died in such a violent manner and I’d spent my everything protecting and nurturing him from the bullshit this world threw at him everyday and I feel like I should have been there to cushion his fall.
I can’t rectify that in my mind. It was my job to protect him and I was five minutes too late.
I am angry.
I am in pain.
I am frustrated.
I want to move on but I can’t quite get my legs to focus. I want to love again, but I am blocked.
The darkest clouds have slightly lifted and now I can laugh. I can share. I can have conversations and spend time. But I have yet to find the pocket inside my soul where the keys to my love have lodged. When I move I can hear them jingling (they’re jingling baby, go head baby) but for now they are lost.
I have found distractions but I’m not built to be a distraction. This is the bane of my existence this purgatory of emotional paralysis.
I am the poet who has all the right words but in this I am speechless.
I am on an internal see-saw seeing life through the eyes of a bitten forbidden fruit. I know that I am naked and I don’t believe God is pleased.
These are my revelations.
They are revealed through tears tonight but tomorrow is always a day away from healing so despite the sadness I’m feeling, I know better days are ahead as long as I keep my head and work through my process because I know with poetic justice comes peace.
To the next man who enters my life I need to tell you that I know the capacity to love you unconditionally and with everything I have is alive, but will you understand the ability to stop loving him will never die?
That’s a hell of a lot to ask. But the return on investment will be incalculable. Because of this tremendous loss I understand more than most how true love is precious, fleeting and immensely valuable.
Or maybe I’ll choose to live a life in seclusion – maybe this love thing is all a hoax filled delusion.
F*&k this process, exhaustion in progress.
Iya Isoke © 7-26-11