Dispatches from the front
I make little goddess sculptures that I’ve sold on my own and occasionally have had them in local stores. A had one on his refrigerator; Morrigan–Irish goddess of change and cycles. The latest store was an artists’ emporium I learned about because of a music gig I was doing there with a friend of mine. I talked to the gal there about taking a look at my goddesses, and she agreed to give them a try.
Of course, I didn’t have a lot on hand to make a good showing, so I plundered my personal collection of them and brought them in, including one Anna Parenna. I had made her a few months after A died, having gone looking for a goddess of healing I could make as kind of a moving meditation. Wouldn’t you know, but there was Anna Parenna, whose feast day was A’s birthday. Sometimes the signs are so clear, they’re in neon. So I made her, and inspired as I was, she turned out to be one of the best ones I’ve ever made. I really didn’t want to part with her, but I needed the stock, and convinced myself that the spiritual value was in the making, not in the having, which is generally true. And to the store she went.
When the artists’ emporium moved house to a different location in the last month, they asked me to come pick up my goddesses, which just weren’t selling at the mark-up they had to add to make their money, which has been the case elsewhere, too. I sell them for cheap, but the stores double that, making it too much. I realized, though, that among the unsold was my dear Anna Parenna. I guess she was meant to stay with me. And I am delighted.
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This morning, E came in to give me a quarter he’d meant to give me a day or so ago. I didn’t know why he was giving me a quarter, and said as much. He said, "Look at it." It was a California quarter. What a sweet gesture. He can be plenty grumpy, but E really is a stellar, kind, and loving human being. After I studied the picture on it, I told him that the quarter was especially meaningful, because the picture on it is very similar to the first picture A sent me of his bearded self crossing a stream with a hiking stick in hand and a wide-brimmed hat on his head. I think it may have even been in Yosemite, but I’m not sure.
No coincidences.
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From the time I met him, I would bend A’s ear with horror stories from the cubicle trenches, and he would be highly entertained and always accuse me of making them up. Would that that had been the case. I would’ve thought I was making it up, too, if I hadn’t been living it myself. In fact, sharing the stories with him for his amusement was a means of job stress-relief for me, and without him here to be my audience, the stupidity is just monumentally stupid; not funny at all. The reality is that I have been unhappy in my place of work for a long, long time.
Not long after he died, the wife of A’s best friend decided to leave a job she disliked and do something different, realizing, as we all did, that life was too short to be miserable. I admired her for that, and yearned to do similarly, but couldn’t see a way to do it that wouldn’t result in a drastic change of lifestyle that I wasn’t really ready for.
However, my boss pissed me off in a final-straw manner with her colossally rude behavior on Friday, and angered me enough that I am finally ready to make the leap, make the effort, and get out of there. I am so ready to contribute to something that matters. And so the job search starts, and I have a lead on something that sounds exciting, useful to humanity, and that I just happen to be made for, skill- and experience-wise. I’m excited about the possibilities and am already imagining myself in the job. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I was excited about something job-related. I can’t tell you because, frankly, I don’t remember.
And as I was thinking about it, I was thinking that maybe A would be proud of me, of my being ready to stop bitching and start acting. He was always happy to go in to work each morning, and I envied him that. If I could have some of that for myself, I honestly wouldn’t know how to act, but I’d be glad to try to figure it out. And if it’s true that they watch our healing progress, then maybe he’s equally proud that I have the desire, energy, and feelings of efficacy again to work towards real change in my life. I’m pretty pleased about that myself. I feel like I found the will to live again, and now I’m finding the will to live BETTER.
I am moving forward, with him. Not moving on, never moving on. Moving with. He is as present in my heart and mind as he ever has been; no ghost, my sweetheart. And while these are not the circumstances I would’ve ever wished, I know I can live with it, because I’m doing it, every day.