The countryside rolling past my train windows is shrouded in gray and mist. The weeping willows seem even more tragic. The cherry blossoms are subdued. The daffodils can hardly bear to lift their heads. On the old slam door train I am on the raindrops trickle in the side of a window whose rubbery lining is shredding off, and the drops land on the corner of the seat and continue their way through the dark blue plush to a small stream on the floor, which idles and moves with the whim of the train. The young man across from me is drinking from a steaming styrofoam coffee cup and has zirconia of rain leashed about the top of his head.

The world around me seems depressed and silent and, in some ways, I know the feeling. I am dressed in a yellow chiffon top and beige trousers, I am dressed like a daffodil and hyacinth and spring. But inside I feel like a softly changing maple leaf, inside I feel like Autumn. I want people around me to be quiet and leave me alone. I don't want an apologetic smile from the man next to me when his newspaper edge touches the side of my freckled wrist, raising the hairs in the serrated newspaper edge. I don't want a glance from the woman across from me as the long black coat she's shrugging off brushes my ankles. I just want solitude.

I don't know why I feel so quiet and distracted, but I think it has to do with worry and fear. I worry about people around me, I worry about their hearts and their well-being. I worry about the state of their love and the last moment I am going to see them. I can handle me being sick and facing death, but I can't handle anyone else in that position. I want to open up Angus' arteries and blow kisses of relief into them. I want to give a hug and make someone all better, to make them whole again. I want to smooth a brow and fix a hot drink and hold a hand.

I used to have this belief that everyone I love must always part with me on the best of terms, just in case that phone call I have with them is the last. In case that kiss by the front door is the last one I have, in case the email I read while sitting and bored in a meeting is the last one I scan. It was important to me that the last words were always the best words, as a reminder to those about how I love them and for me to remember how I was loved.

Because in the cold and Kafka recesses of the night, the memory of love is sometimes all you have.

I used to mandate that every phone call ended with the words 'I love you' with family and friends and lovers. But as my life has changed in the past year, so has the way I behave. As my life splinters and fractures and ejects some people in my life all the while welcoming new passengers on Helen Airlines, I have begun to change. Now there are a few people in my life with whom the last words may have been kind but the emotions as a whole are bitter and tainted. There are a few relationships that are destroyed and, in light of that, I once would have gotten my shovel out and dug like a little badger to get things fixed. There are a few people with whom my conversations are always positive and loving, but with whom I don't need to always say I love them since they just know I do. To reiterate it would be pedantic, would be overkill, would be a sign of my quivering insecurities.

And my Hallmark moments have ended. Now I shrug and think: I just can't do it anymore, I can't spend every moment chasing people around to make sure the last memory I have of them is positive. It's just not necessary, I need to learn to hold nuggets of hope and laughter and gentleness, instead of chasing after them. I need to trust that they do care about me, unless they tell me they don't.

I used to be so bad about it that when people went away from me for a holiday or business trip I demanded some kind of written note or letter. I needed physical proof while they were away that they loved me. I needed tangible evidence that there really was a person that loved me like that, that I wasn't crazy. And, sadly, I needed proof that they would come back. Someone once described a person with borderline personality disorder as a person for whom emotional conflict and feelings equate to the emotional equivalent a third degree burn. I can't for the life of me think of anything better to describe how perfect that summary is. I'm one of the walking mannequins who has reached emotional adulthood without the proper equipment, who often finds emotions to be sheer agony.

But I am trying to fix myself and my broken toys. When Angus goes away I don't beg and plead for him to leave me a note or a letter, and if he does leave one, it's just icing on the cake. I don't need some kind of physical proof from him that he loves me, nor do I need proof that he's coming back. He does love me. He will come back. And this, in itself, is the gentle education of Helen as I begin to peel back band-aids and let my burns face the air.

The last words my grandfather ever said to me were 'I love you.' And from a stoic and quiet man, his was the biggest gift I can think of. When I look back on the haze that was the all-night hospital visit with Kim, the smells of the machines and his bed filled with things that we had together, I find that I just can't recall his last words. It was the last time I ever saw him. I can't think of the last words we said to each other but I know it was done in an explosion of catharsis and hope, I know that the industrial white walls had an aura of I will see you again, of I will find you.

I can't remember the last words he said but maybe that's the point of how I feel-it doesn't matter if the last words are perfect or not, just as long as I hold bright candles up to his memory.

But maybe people need to hear a good goodbye from me, maybe others need good words from me, and that's an obligation I need to fill, that I want to fill.

I sit here with my fingers on the keys and words brimming in my brain and I just can't get it all out. I am gagged and bound but I can't find the emotions anyway. I am broken opera glasses that sit on the ledge of the box and only view the few people in my life that need to be in the spotlight. I am content to sit here and look out the window, following the raindrops sneaking in through the leak. If I can sit in the shadow of myself maybe I will have a moment to figure out what my heart's composed of, and what it needs.

It's just another rainy day in England.

It's just another rainy work day in my rain-soaked working life.

Meetings, conference calls, minutes, notes, and presentations line the corridor of my day ahead, but I don't care about any of them. I just need to sit still and figure out how I feel, and from there, to figure out the best way to let it all out.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 01:30 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 1339 words, total size 7 kb.

1 I had never heard that particular description before, Helen, but you nailed me on the head when you said "a person for whom emotional conflict and feelings equate to the emotional equivalent of a third degree burn." I never understood why every argument, every non-positive word, felt like the end to me. No one else understood it, either. Once again, my feelings in your words. Poetic, yet painful, to read your insides splayed across the page and see myself in them, as well. I don't know what to say besides, thank you for being courageous enough to share them.

Posted by: scorpy at March 30, 2005 01:43 PM (VlWzk)

2 I totally understand your feelings about last words, etc. I visited my Mom in the hospital on Dec 14 and, with a million and one other pre-Christmas things to do, I sat distractedly for 10 minutes, then kissed her and said I had to run, things to do, I'll be back, blah blah blah. I got a call later that night that she'd passed away, and none of the other things I thought I had to do that day mattered a bit. Take the time you need to sit and think and figure. Everything else can and will wait.

Posted by: Schotzie at March 30, 2005 02:07 PM (4tD3v)

3 I'm beginning to recognize these particular moments in my life. Sometimes, I just need solitude.

Posted by: Rebecca at March 30, 2005 03:30 PM (ZHfdF)

4 As my work environment gets worse and worse, I've found the only way to even pretend to get that solitude is to put my headphones on at work and pretend to listen to music. It seems to help a little.

Posted by: amber at March 30, 2005 03:49 PM (VZEhb)

5 'Rain, rain, Go away. Little Helen wants to play."

Posted by: Marie at March 30, 2005 04:41 PM (PQxWr)

6 I don't claim to understand or to share your feelings, because I think every person's hell is different. All I can say is that I hope you find your way out soon and that if there is anything I can do to help you, you won't stand on ceremony. You realize that your writing cuts glass like a diamond when you're this sad, right?

Posted by: RP at March 30, 2005 04:51 PM (LlPKh)

7 Helen, Your words touch me so very deeply! I hope you can find the time to sort through your feelings and the ways you need to express them. From the sounds of things you have another very busy day at work. Just hang on and find yourself in the small moments of being with yourself. Trust yourself, you'll find what you need!

Posted by: dee at March 30, 2005 06:01 PM (sZnML)

8 Hey, you. I'm keeping all the best parts of you fore in my thoughts. For the record? That's a whole lotta parts. And sending a virtual hug, post haste. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down, too.

Posted by: Jennifer at March 30, 2005 06:08 PM (jl9h0)

9 HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my darling girl! Love love love you, M

Posted by: Margi at March 31, 2005 05:32 AM (lWAiX)

Hide Comments | Add Comment