A Note I Found From My Best Friend

Going through my "Notes" section on my cell phone this morning, I came across this. I must have copied and pasted it from an email or text she sent me awhile ago, and saved it for difficult times such as this one.

How lucky I am, how very, very, very lucky.

I love you, S.
_________________________________


I love you Mel; I'm always here for you wherever in the world you decide to be, and there is no failure here, only life experiences.

Emma

One day I will tell you a story
many and few nonsensical words
or
in some unknown language, maybe


when the some comes up
and the opening
I request an interpreter
he is not available


In the evening, maybe
may you understand.

Chinatown Chrysanthemums (Revised)

Fallen from the elderly man's wagon
onto the weary concrete
journey to a funeral aborted

white, yellow, white
You may have them
they are for You
they know

You are not fragile
they will keep the secrets
hardy and forgiving
they grow where other flowers cannot.

Farewell

Across the Hudson
the filament swallows
the melting sky

night unfurls
its indifferent blanket

faint taste of regret
I wish you well
wait again for Day.

Rotation

"Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want to be loved doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they have."

At some point, years ago, I came across that quote. I can't remember who said it, or even where I saw it. I can't remember where I was geographically, emotionally, age-wise at the time. But like one of those fragmented pieces of glass that comprise my memory, it stuck with me. I guess you could say I knew instinctually that it would be a concept to which I turned again and again as time progressed, necessarily taking on new and different meaning with the vicissitudes of life.

I think, as human beings and social creatures (well, maybe save J.D. Salinger and Greta Garbo, though I strongly believe that even those self-proclaimed hermits maintained at least some interpersonal relationships), we want to be appreciated, respected, and most of all, acknowledged. So often for me what is most painful in interpersonal conflict is not the specific actions of the other person themselves but my perception that such actions demonstrate a lack of basic recognition of me as a person. In short, how often do our personal narratives go like this:

"He/she did X. Therefore he/she has no concern for my feelings whatsoever. He/she takes me for granted. He/she assumes I will always just be there. He/she has no respect for my time. He/she must not really care about me - love me - at all if capable of acting this way."

So I guess you could say that this is where that quote above comes in. In our relationships perhaps more than anywhere else, we create our own personal stories. Some seem obvious and universal - if my friend steals from me, he or she probably isn't too concerned with my best interests. But most are much murkier than that. My best friend knows I am going through a difficult time and doesn't call me for two months, and so she must not care how I am. No one who cares would do such a thing.I'm in the hospital and she doesn't visit me. She must not love me.

Or just maybe they do.

Maybe I just feel more comfortable with making it be that simple. That way I can order it, have it make logical sense. Without that, how could I possibly decide who to keep in my life, who to make sacrifices for, who to spend time with, and who to let go of?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, that system of belief has probably cost me some very valuable relationships. I see my life through my own particular kaleidoscope with the myriad of pieces seemingly in place - blue here, gold there. But rotate that kaleidscope a fraction of an inch, and suddenly all of those pieces are regrouped, reordered. Maybe, just maybe, actions that I had decided were caused selfishness and lack of consideration were rooted in fear, shame, personal trauma. To give the most obvious example, maybe my friend didn't visit me in the hospital because she has a terror of hospitals that she was too embarassed to share with me. Didn't want to freak out in front of me while I was there. And maybe she didn't call after because she was so ashamed about her actions.

This doesn't make for easy answers. We all still have to decide what are our limits and our breaking points. But I think with my own maturity comes the understanding that love doesn't necessarily behave the way I think it should.

And though infinitely more ambiguous, it's also perhaps gives me the gift of a much larger world.

A Secret

I still call you on the phone
I pretend your number still works
I say hello
I hope you'll answer
I tell you about my day
I hope you'll ask questions
I ask about yours
I hope you'll respond
I want to talk and talk
I hope you have time
I tell you I'm sorry
I hope you'll forgive me

For my mother

Night

dark and the phantoms slip out
soundless and graceful
monstrous shapes mutate
eyes squeezed shut
yearn for nothingness
know it is futile
the monsters know their way in
bulb on the nightlight burned out many liftimes ago
enveloped in their world
seduced effortlessly
sink into layers of velvet