It's not a christmas post; I don't have one. Except I milked the cows and did chores so the farm owners could have an uninterrupted christmas morning with their kids. I brought over appetizers and fancy cakes to ronald mcdonald house so the families staying there would have something nice. And I read this, just now, which made me cry (surprise surprise). I know it is a different thing to lose a child than to lose your love, but I often find the words there suit me well.
...But what she gave me was infinite. The understanding of unconditional love, of absence, of suffering, of impermanence, of fear. (Fuck, I was afraid after she died. I was afraid of being alone and being with others.) She gave me an understanding of without. She gave me the whole of the abyss. ...I gave her some kisses, tears. I gave her an urn. A place on the shelf in the secretary. It sits in front of all my books about God. Those things seem the least I could do, the very least. ...
And the part she wrote about the tattoo makes me want one so badly, want the one I have decided on, the small one inside my wrist. What would you think about this babe? The new ink your son has, the huge ones he has planned, the one I want on me?
And then back to gifts - I love those lines above: you also gave me the whole of the abyss. You gave me absence, suffering, love. And other things, intangibles. Beautifuls and miserables; things I don't even know.
Last night - and I claim it as a gift - I was sacked out on the couch watching tv-via-netflix, and just as the subtitles flashed "you have my heart," the screen froze. The screen froze leaving those words hanging there: You have my heart. The re-loading arrows blinked, but nothing changed. For maybe the first time that whole day, I laughed. Hello my love. And you have my heart too.
Goodnight everybody. Peaceful christmas-hanukkah-kwanzaa-solstice to you.