I don’t know what it is about August
“August, the summer’s last messenger of misery, is a hollow actor.” — Henry Rollins
Thanks to good ole Facebook Memories, I know that today is the day Leanne’s obituary came out. We would have her celebration of life at her favorite bar/club four days later.
Such a beautiful girl. She looks exactly like my friend Lindsey. Same spirit and big laugh too. No wonder Lindsey and I clicked. It makes sense now.
There will never be another Sia, though.
I think about her every day. Mostly kicking myself for keeping my distance at first. (I didn’t want her to catch the wrath of Shannika if they knew she was talking to me.) But she didn’t care. She wanted to be my friend. So we just didn’t publicize it when we did hang out.
There were some people we knew who were so mean to her. She had a way of outshining everyone without even trying. And to read their comments on her wall, you’d think she was their BFF.
I prefer how some others are handling it — with silence. We all know how you related to her in life. Grieve for the time you wasted.
You know, like I am.
It feels like my window closed for taking time off to heal. Summer is drawing to a close and still I’ve taken no time off. I have a list of things I want to “come back” and achieve. But I want that door open to a vacation … to not have to leave new projects unattended.
And if I don’t either take a vacation to get rested, or to dig deep into that God-I-hope-it’s-still-bottomless well for one more superhuman burst of strength … I’m not sure how to tackle all the things I want to do.
Mom decided we should postpone the Pittsburgh Pilgrimage to next year. Which is fine by me but I am also postponing moving until then too. So, big summer ahead. I just don’t know how much longer I can function till then. I needed that vacation NOW.
It has slipped out of my mouth far too many times that Sia was the lucky one, to finally be at rest. Not to say she is, but then that gets into all my existential fears that should remain unspoken.
Of course, my greatest fear is that there’s this big old world — and I’m not going to see enough of it. Her fear was that the world was too small and she’d see it all too soon.
I guess, in a way, she was right. She can see it all where she’s at now.
I need to get a new fear because I won’t be able to rest if I don’t set foot outside Braddock Beach again in this mortal coil.
And I need to do it soon, before another winter of discontent destroys what little motivation I have left in me.
“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.” — John Steinbeck, “The Winter of Our Discontent”