Uploading some photos this morning to my blog,
my profile caught my eye. I am not sure
why it drew my attention today, but the sucker punch was anything but subtle. It
was one of those moments that sneak up on me, feeling more like a bitch slap
than a gentle nudge! Waiting for the
upload, two phrases blinked back at me. Ok, so some things have changed in my
life and I neglected to update my blog.
As I read the words I am transported back to what used to be. And the “used to be” compared to my current
state is what shoves me headfirst into the empty spot of what once was. In my
heart I know life changes every day, and change is good and unavoidable. My problem with change is twofold. One, I am not in charge of it. Two, I am not in charge of how long it
hurts. I can accept change, I know it
is necessary and inevitable. I spend many moments of my life accepting it by
challenging myself with variety and coloring outside the lines. It’s an illusion which pacifies me most days.
One of the words which jumped out at me this
morning was skydiving, which until recently I had held out hope of doing again. Maybe not fully licensed, but even a couple
of solo jumps just to satisfy my love of the freefall and the thrill of navigating
terminal velocity. Having not been able
to jump in ten years because of the physical risk. I have held out for the day
I might. My style is to accept limitations with all of the grace of a 2 year
old in full tantrum. Even when I hold it
together on the outside, on the inside I am belly down, arms and legs swinging,
wailing and screaming “NOOOOOOO”. The
word limitation and disability make me want to punch someone in the head. I’m aware of how childish that is, but if you
are looking for real, there it is. Recently
I have had to accept that the chances of me being under canopy again are slim
to none.
Early on in life we learn the silly game of
crossing our fingers behind our back while saying an untruth, as though it has
some kind of magic power to forgive and protect us. My verbal version of this is “for now”. It’s a ridiculous game I play, like someone
else seeing your fingers crossed while they know you are lying to them. It makes me feel better to say “for now” even
though I know it might not be true. It
gives me relief from the absolute of saying never again. So in fairness I should remove skydiving from
my profile list, but that seems so permanent. Though I have gotten up off the floor and
stopped kicking and screaming, I will concede to no skydiving for now.
After I lost Tanner this summer. I was not exactly in a frame of mind to focus
on the details and my blog profile. My
heart was broken and it still aches when I think about the hole he left
behind. When asked how many dogs I have,
I still say three. Then I catch myself modifying to “two” and sometimes, not
wanting to acknowledge he isn’t here anymore, I don’t bother to modify. Explaining that I used to have three creates
a lump in my throat making me incapable of speech or breathing. So I let it go. Soon I will have three dogs again and I am
not sure how I will feel then. It won’t
be automatic to say four, yet Tanner will be in my heart as I answer, just as
Bella still is. I know it is just words
on a screen yet I am reluctant to change it, so I leave it. For now.
For now, I have two dogs and skydiving is not
an option for me. Like any other change,
like any loss, living the moments are hard.
Even when it is re-living them.
The truth is when I was skydiving I wasn’t a runner. And I spend far more time running than I ever
did jumping, and I have traveled the world and met a world full of amazing
people. When I lost Bella, I wound up
with two amazing dogs, who give me more joy and love than I thought
possible. The holes don’t stay empty,
they get filled with other pieces of life and love. And what they have been filled with has
exceeded what I could have imagined. As
the holes have been filled, I have come to learn two very important
things. Knowing something else will come
along and taking up some of the space, doesn’t do one damn thing for the ache I
feel in the present as I walk through the moments. The hole doesn’t exactly get filled in the
same spot, it’s somewhere alongside of it. While it covers some of the
emptiness, the trace of the is just visible enough to remind me of the
ache. It’s a faint outline of what used
to be, but it gives me the guts to say
for now as I cross my fingers and move on.
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