You used to complain about your weight, then eat ice cream
before bed.
You wouldn’t open up when you were upset for days, then a
trigger would send you at me suddenly, howling in terrifying rage that made no
sense to me.
You didn’t trust your body since it seemed to betray you so
often, and had no tolerance for pain, resisting it and distracting yourself
instead of taking better care.
You were so afraid of me being hurt that any small thing
would send you into a panic over me, instilling a deeply etched pattern I keep
trying to shake off.
Your black and white thinking alienated so many people, and
your certainty kept you closed off and ashamed of your own choices, your
misplaced guilt a shark-filled moat around you.
You wanted to connect so badly that your intensity
backfired, leaving you mostly alone.
Your own brother barely knew you…
Your father blamed himself for so much, not because he did
treat you badly when you were young, but because of his choices in women…
Your mother lied to you about why she was so depressed and
angry, and after she died you wished you could speak with her.
And I realize, all at once, that all these things, so
directed at you, so angry at you, so judgmental of you, voices repeated by my mind over the years, can also be said at
many points, completely, truly, about me.
And also.
Your sense of humor was excellent, and we would make each
other laugh until we couldn’t breathe.
You tried hard to exercise, to eat healthier food, and
enjoyed small adventures.
You loved philosophy, archaeology, old movies, music,
science fiction, and poetry.
You thought you had a good answer for how to make the world
a better place.
You loved to sing in other languages.
Music moved you, could make you cry, or motivate you to dance
awkwardly around the living room.
You had a gift for seeing into me, understanding what really
motivated me, who I was, solidly, reliably, predictably, underneath the roiling
emotions that constantly disturb my surface, and your advice and love were
deep.
Your relationship with grampa got much better over time.
You understood your mother so much better after she died,
and although that was painful, it was helpful too.
All these things are also true for me.
No suffering is ever unconnected.
No connection is ever without effect.
Letting go of certainty and blame,
the innocence of interdependent arising
can begin to be seen to illuminate existence.
