have ticket will travel…

Heya Bab,

Tonight I miss you, but I’ve been doing my crying in the shower to avoid spoiling more fruit!

I’ve managed to get my contract wound up and my flights booked so I will make it home for Christmas day with hours to spare.

M will not be on his own. There will be no one sitting alone in the snow, at least not my brother.

I will do what I do, what women do. I’ll be fragile enough to be somehow strong. I’ll try to be the plaster that makes it just about ok.

Part of me is relieved. Part of me what’s to smack him in the teeth for laying all the weight on me, because I have to go home and lift him up when I’d kind of like to sink, slump, be carried. But family is family and kindnesses, forgivenesses matter much more than keeping score.

Love binds but also bends. He needs me so I will get there.

I can’t help but think about last year – my sudden awful realisation from half a world away, at the ass end of Nigeria, that it might be the last time I got a chance to be with you, that it might just be the last time that only thousands of miles were in my way.

Then came the comedy of errors that seemed to conspire against my efforts to get home:  the elections that turned ugly, the security lockdown, the snow storm, the flights not flying and then the long long wait at the airport for a miracle to get me through miles of snow-blocked roads.

It makes me smile to think how frightened I was that I would be too late. You told me not to fret, that we would just make Christmas later if we needed to and of course you were right.

For years we’d done just that. Christmas was when I came home, even if that happened to be in July. The day in the calendar only meant what we let it mean. We can dream-turn time with will, with a wish… we make it want we want of it, if we believe we can.

But you were dying and that seemed to changed everything. I wanted Christmas to be postcard perfect in a way I had never needed before.

In the end the gods were good to me, I got home and it was bloody awful. Everything hung heavy with the dread of death coming on, the shadow tangled up in the tinsel, the hopes that stuck in my throat.

Belief had thinned, sickened, waned to the full stop that we knew was hanging at the end of the line.

But I’m still thankful bab. That once, I would have rather been with you for awful than anywhere else for great. Sometimes imperfect is just perfect, it is at least almost enough.

If I had a drink, I’d lift it to imperfect with love. We’ll have one for you when I get home…



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8 Responses to have ticket will travel…

  1. Aurora says:

    Beautfiul again….. I have shared on ,y personal Facebook page also ❤

  2. cuhome says:

    You are so good connecting your words, which are just a collection of letters, to emotions, which are a complex, tangled up, unexplainable mass of ‘us’.

  3. John says:

    Well written as always. . . . I came home last Thurs night (12/15) to find that my on-again off-again live-in pseudo-girlfriend with Borderline Personality Disorder had suddenly decided that driving cross-country (the USA) with the kids (hers; 3 of them; I don’t have any) to do Christmas in L.A. with my family and sight-seeing along the way no longer sounded as fun as when she initially decided she wanted to do this; and so instead, and without telling me and without ever even hinting about this, she took about $1400 worth of my stuff (including $800 cash) and up and left with the kids (hers) while I was at work that afternoon to go do Christmas with her equally wacky alcoholic family in upstate NY. Merry Christmas, indeed. Perhaps God, the Universe, et cetera, is giving me a gift after all–a gift that certainly stings a bit right now (this is the second–and last–time she has done this and will ever do this to me), but may hopefully be for the best down the road. We shall see.

    And I had five pre-cancerous/suspicious spots frozen off of my face and forearm last Thurs morning as well (and my BPD-ex was right there with me. Go figure. 8 hours later she’d be deciding to flipping the script and deciding that L.A. for Christmas was too stressful, given that she wasn’t sure how my family would accept her given how loony she has acted in the past (she has considerably poisoned the well on her own behalf). After having “known” this woman for 26 months, I am beginning to believe that what she has (BPD) is the equivalent of brain damage–it’s as if she suddenly goes from normal to completely off the charts abnormal at the drop of a hat; it’s as if she’s actually got a damaged brain, a la Phineas Gage. Mind-boggling stuff, to say the least.

    Really I just wanted to let you know the results of my skin screening, but . . . such is life. My mom died of Melanoma almost two years ago (Jan. 3, 2010), and two-years ago to the day (this Sun) was when they adjusted (upped) her pain meds and she basically was gone–sleeping almost all the time, drowsy, only able to talk and interact for a few moments at a time. On the Tues after Christmas she stopped eating and drinking anything, and two days later she lapsed essentially into a coma, then the death gurgling began, and then she died on Sun, the 3rd of Jan at 8:38 with me at her beside holding her hand, watching her breathing stop and stutter, and then finally cease altogether.

    And so this may well be my first Christmas alone. My bro and sis in law and the kids are going on a cruise with the sis-in-law’s family, my best friend (an -ex; I call her the good -ex) has a newish boyfriend (over a year), and she’ll be out of town down in Georgia visiting her family; and then my own ex- has flown the coop, flipped the script, gone rogue, is going off the grid for Christmas this year. So i am all alone in my house–which was my mom’s, but I have since bought. It will be an interesting Christmas to say the least. Bukowski’s advice in times like this is to pull all the blinds, hole up in your bed for three days, and only get up to pee and poo and get a beer, lol. Tis the season, lol. . . .

    “God breaks the heart again and again and again until it stays open.” – Hazrat Inayat Khan

    I think (hope) I’m almost there!

    And it’s not like my BPD-ex has had an easy go if it either–she and her siblings were abused by their stepfather; her mom is a complete loon (unfortunately like mother like daughter), her dad is a former alcoholic, cokehead, crackhead, now a pseudo-born agian know-it-all narcissist, and both her brothers are closet addicts–pot and alcohol–the whole family is a family of self-medicators. And three years ago around this time, my BPD-ex lost her husband–the story she told me was that they were going to separate the next day, and decided to go out with a bang, literally, sex and xctasy, and he stroked out on her around midnight, an aneurysm or stroke. They pulled the plug on him the next day. Of course, she had been doing her BPD crazy stuff with him for 10 years and three kids–on day she loves him, the next day she wants to go play spiritual with some goofy pseudo-spiritual new age cult and tromp around the globe doing mind-altering drugs in indigenous ceremonies high in the mountains of third world countries. (She sounds just a little confused to say the least! And of course I knew none of this till 9 months into the relationship when she started unpacking her considerable closet full of skeletons!) So, after sampling firsthand 2-years worth of a very intense and highly compressed and accelerated sampling of her wackiness and instability, I can only imagine how stressful all of this must of been for her deceased husband! I at least had the advantage of having some knowledge of psychology and some decent coping skills (at least I think I do!), but he met her when he was 25, and he loved him his pot and alcohol as well, and so, like her, he was also not a fan of dealing with reality. So, again, I can only imagine how much she contributed to his early demise and how much she (likely rightfully) blames herself and is ashamed.

    So . . .nothing like making matters worse by heaping on another act of lunacy!

    • Oh gosh John, I was so sorry to read this – it all sounds very overwhelming right now and I can only imagine how you must be feeling. It sounds as if there are so many things on your mind – the skin screening, the upcoming anniversary of your mum’s death, Christmas memories, you understandably being seriously pissed off with your girlfriend but also trying to understand how she got to where she’s at as well.
      I admire your efforts to look on the bright side but I hope you will also feel free to throw some fruit at the appropriate moment and that you have someone you can complain too! Everyone needs permission to not need to be positive or rational or brave once in a while.
      While I understand the impulse to just hole up and hide from everything, try not to tell yourself that it will be awful. I really believe any day can be whatever we choose to make it and in some ways be freed from the weight of other people’s expectations and the need to make sure everyone else is okay might just be a relief. I will be thinking of you..

    • Hello John, I just wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you over Christmas. How did it go?

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