Love can be profoundly inexplicable. There are many things I could tell you about who Susie was, and what I admired about her. There are many things I could tell you about our relationship, what made it uniquely special, what gave it its fingerprint. But I could never express adequately the true depth of what we had, or even why we had it. There are “no words” for love.
Because, love in its purest form has no boundaries, and so it can’t be contained by a definition. If you could define it, you’d probably destroy it. There’s an intangible quality to love. It runs deeper than the eye can see, or the ear can hear. Sure, there may be external expressions and evidences of love, but they’re only ever pointers to a much deeper reality.
For me and Suse, love happened at the deepest part of our being. That’s where our bond was forged. That’s where we were grafted together.
And that’s where all the damage has been done. Her death has stirred up a vortex of emptiness at the core of my being, a whirlpool which threatens to suck my heart into an unknown realm. Every. Single. Moment. I can feel the pull in my chest, constantly. That’s the internal reality, because that’s where the love was, and no longer is.
But there’s a dissonance.
Because as the storm rages internally, I step out into a world where the sun shines, and the birds sing, and where happiness is promoted as the greatest status symbol of success and achievement.
And it’s unbearable at times.
My sense of failure in this shiny, happy culture overwhelms me. Its desire to fix me, for its own sake, irritates me. How can I endure this sort of juxtaposition? I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.
But people try to re-integrate me. They try to be kind. And out of kindness to them, I don’t let my internal truth get in the way of social polity. “You sound great”, they say. “Well I’m not. So shut up” is how I don’t respond. “You look fantastic”, they say. “Well I feel like a bag of crap” is how I don’t respond.
Feelings are tempered. And they need to be. If I was to give full expression to my anger, it’d be dangerous. If I was to give full expression to my darkness, I’d drag people into a pit which I wouldn’t wish on anyone. If I was to give full expression to my loneliness, I fear my friends would be swamped with an inescapable misery. And so my feelings should be tempered.
But they shouldn’t be suppressed.
And so while I don’t want to force people into my darkness, I’m happy to leave a door open to it. And I’m very glad for those people who have the courage to step into it. I’m glad for those people who give me opportunity to express my grief, who listen to me, and cry with me. That helps. I’m glad for the honest ones, who tell me nothing more than how crap this is. I’m glad for the listening ones who try to understand. And I’m glad for the persevering ones who honour the love I shared with Suse by not hurrying to expunge it with the uncertain promise of future happiness.
