A Strange Kind of Loss

A large part of me was unceremoniously ripped out of my chest yesterday.

Anyone who really knows me knows that I am first and foremost a father by nature. I love kids, and I have earned a couple of playful nicknames as a result (Baby Stealer, because I'll hold any baby if given the opportunity, and Baby Whisperer, because I am so good with kids). So it should come as no surprise to anyone that the role which is most important to me is that of Uncle.

My life largely revolves around my nieces and nephew. Cali, Ellora, Tigo (and soon Bailey) are my greatest joy; I love them more than I could possibly put into words, and it is obvious to anyone that they love me. Other than her mom and dad, I am Ellora's favorite. Cali loves going to my house every Monday for "date night," as she calls it; the question I have heard most from her is, "When is it Monday?" Whenever I saw Tigo, he'd get excited and say, "Bedroom!" which meant it was time to go wrestle and let him beat me up with a pillow. To say I am an involved uncle is an understatement; it's not something I do, it is who I am.

I don't know when I will see Cali and Tigo again.

Yesterday (Friday, September 18th, 2015), Jessi and Michael (Cali's and Tigo's mom and dad) took the kids and left to move to the other side of the country. Thousands of miles away. And I barely had 24 hour notice. (This isn't about anger or blame or anything like that, so please don't take it that way or use it that way; this is about my difficulty with the situation). I went from having Cali over every Monday to not knowing when I will see her again. I went from being able to drop by and see them any time to knowing I won't see them again AT LEAST until sometime next year. I went from feeling like I wrestled with Tigo too much to wondering if he'll still want to wrestle like that next time I see him (he will, but he'll be older, so I'll have to learn anew what he likes at that point).

No more taking Cali to Comics FTW.

No more walking in the door randomly and seeing both of them get super excited to see me.

Mondays won't have the same meaning anymore.

No more Animal Crossing, Superman, trips to the park, letting Cali pick the song as I drive, games on my tablet.

No more laughter from Tigo as I pretend to beat him up.

No taking Cali to Rebounderz again as I have been telling her we would.

They're gone. It won't be cheap or easy to visit, so I won't be able to do so much at all.

They are a part of me, a HUGE part of me, and they are gone; Two of the largest parts of my heart unexpectedly stripped away.

I'll miss Jessi and Michael, Cali and Tigo. I'll still have contact, but it's not the same; I am someone who much prefers face-to-face contact over phone calls or written communication.

I am writing all of this very matter-of-fact and disjointed because I don't know how else to do it. It's overwhelming. This is one of the most difficult things I have gone through, and I can't even process any of it. It doesn't even feel entirely real.

All I know is, Monday is going to be very difficult.

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A poem I wrote about this, titled "A Strange Kind of Loss."

I crippled my hope in hopes that I might walk tall

Walk strong

Walk away from it all

I'm bleeding in colors I never have seen

Bleeding out my dreams

Bleeding a river, a pall, a desert, and all that I see

All is wrong

All it's been, all I need, all I ever seem to be is broken, tired, trapped in the river flowing thrall

I damned my hope in the midst of it all

Let go of the ones you love

Call it tired in the black unquiet

Call it the unsleep and unknown

Call out in the silent deny-it

Call this great river my home

Let go

Let go

Let go

But HOLD FIRM

Let go

Let go

Let go

But hold firm

Of Empathy and (Re)Defining Love

You know how much it hurts– how much it kills– when you smash your finger? Maybe you shut it in a drawer, or slammed it in the door, or hit it with a hammer. Whatever the cause, there's nothing you can do to stop the pain. You grasp at your hand, trying desperately to hold it while at the same time terrified of touching it. You're frantic, in a panic to make it stop when all you can actually do is wait it out. Endure. Face the pain, because it's not going away, not from anything you do anyway.

That finger isn't you. It's a part of you, but if you lost that finger, you would still be you. A part of you would be missing, and you'd never be the same, but it wouldn't change who you are fundamentally. And yet, it would change who you are to some degree; you would have a new story to tell, you would function differently, your life would be altered undeniably.

Your finger (or any body part) is not you, but it is a part of you. When it hurts, you hurt, because again, it is a part of you.

Now extend that to emotions and people.

I believe love is recognizing that who you are is not the limit of who you are. Who I am is not the limit of who I am. My thoughts, my dreams, my emotions, aspirations, desires, pains, my every invisible aspect that composes my self is not the entirety of who I am. I am also my parents, my brothers, my sisters, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, my grandparents, my nieces, my nephew, my friends, every person I love. They are not me, but they are a part of me.

And it kills when one of them hurts.

That's the thing of being a highly empathic person; the pain of others can be more difficult than my own difficulties. If I've had a stressful day at work, I know how to deal with it. If I'm having difficulty with a specific person, I can handle it. I can feel lonely and still cope, angry and keep it in check, sad and know how to process. But when someone I love is hurting, it's like smashing my finger; I want to grasp at it and do whatever I can to make it better, but I know nothing I do can actually stop the pain. I can help them cope, I can make it easier for them in some ways, but I can't FIX anything.

I'm an extremely sensitive person, I'm very emotional, and I am highly empathic. It consumes me when someone I care about is suffering; their pain becomes my own. “When you hurt, I suffer.” It's not easy– at times it can be unbearably overwhelming. But for all the difficulty, there is so much beauty in it, and I see so much good come from it, I could never truly wish that I was free from this burden-gift.

Like losing a finger, losing someone is losing a part of myself. But unlike a body part, a person will always be a part of me, no matter the time or distance between us. All the severed ties, the ex-girlfriend, the friends who have drifted away, those who have died, everyone who is not an active part of my life anymore for one reason or another, they are all still a part of me, for good or ill. They are a part of who I am, and my life changes as people come and go; it's impossible for them not to affect me.

This is what I believe love to be, that force that bonds all of these people to me in such a way that they are a part of who I am. It's not some feeling, some emotion, something fleeting that ebbs and flows– you will ever be a part of me, regardless of how we might feel about one another. It's not c mystical force that acts in a happy-go-lucky manner and makes everything roses and sunshine– I have felt the most love for people in the darkest times, when I have been in more pain I imagined possible. It isn't romance, or affection, it isn't amorous or concerned with itself– although I do believe that all of this can be aspects and expressions of love. Love is deep, the bond between people that goes beyond selfish desires or romantic feelings or mere sensations. Love is recognizing and acknowledging that we are a part of one another, and to act in love towards someone is to foster that love, to treat them as they are; a part of yourself.

This is why I believe real love never dies; whatever change in emotion or thinking there might be, I don't think you can ever fully let go of someone to the point that they aren't a part of you anymore to some degree. They molded you, however much or little it might have been, if they were a part of your life in a significant manner at any point, that bond is permanent, their influence permanent, a part of you that may lose significance, but ever a part of you.

So when I say, “I love you,” understand that it means something. It doesn't mean that I am experiencing a certain emotion (although that might inform and/or inspire me to say it). It means that you are a part of me. Like my finger, or my limbs, or any part of my body, only so much more significant, so much more meaningful.

You are a part of me.

I love you.