Sunday, March 11, 2012

Refined Poetry

No offense intended to the writers of these lines, but I've chosen (for selfish purposes, like most things I do) to trim your lines down to the few that have meaning to me right now: to "refine" them. Special apology to K.D. Lang since I have been channeling her songs lately to inspire a "Canadian vibe," which is sort of like trying not to sneeze: a valiant and creative effort that inevitably ends up defeated.

In fact, it's as if I've been having my own sweet conversation with K.D. and she has no idea. Or perhaps I've gone off the deep end... you decide.

K.D., do you know what it feels like to leave a place filled with family and friends that you love and know deeply? To leave the people that have suffered the dark nights of the soul with you, and also dropped everything to celebrate life's simple joys, like when your child scored his first goal? People who've driven your drunk butt home or ordered you to get a taxi? Who have laughed at your weight gain and celebrated your stylist's choices? People you've called bitch and ass in the same sentence as "I love you," both of which you meant sincerely? Who have known your kids since before they were conceived? Who have answered their doorbells at the most inconvenient times when you were afraid? Or just really sad? Do you know? Could you know?

"Sometimes it feels all that you wanted... has been taken away."

And what if you chose this new venture in spite of the pain to rediscover something in yourself, to prioritize your family, to connect on a deeper level with your spouse, and to hopefully contribute (through that powerful connection) to your children: How must one feel about a spouse in such a situation?

"I love the best in you. You love the best in me."

Ah, the best. That commitment I made when I was 19 years old. The one that tied me to the man that does indeed see the best and most hopeful in me. In spite of myself. That vow that provides the anchor God knew I would need to get me through... Yes, I'm willing to move with that.
But. Then why was I planted here in Denver for the past seven years? What could the purpose have been? Right now it seems like a wasted effort.

"Maybe it was to learn how to love, how to choose, or how to fight, to how to lessen our pride, how to laugh, how to cry."

Yes, I've learned those things. And it's hard, K.D., it's rips out my guts some days. Feels like I just found out a party of my body was going to be severed. Creates gallons of tears at the worst of times, like in the midst of a family dinner. At a restaurant. Prompts my dear husband to ask me: "Are you pregnant?" Do you realize the agony?

"And though it's not always easy, lovely, lovely..."

Certainly not lovely. This is kind of ugly, in fact. I feel needy, and I abhor needy.

"We will walk in good company."

So you promise, K.D. I have my doubts, but I'm trying to be hopeful. I like to think that I did something meaningful here in Denver: that I've left a legacy, or at least left something more lasting than a few laughs. That I did more good than harm.

"I gave my love, didn't I? I gave it big sometimes; I gave it in my own sweet time"

I tried; I did. And I confess I didn't do it well or consistently. I know I did it full of my own weaknesses and darkness and insecurities. But I did give my love. As best as I knew how. As much as I was capable.

"I'm just leaving."

Yes. But not as in, I'm giving up. in, I'm moving on. Though not without tremendous loss.

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