"Even Though" by Steph Campbell - 5/17/2010

I have a good life.

I have an amazing son who is developing and growing more miraculously than I'd ever dreamed he would.  I take little credit.  He is his own grower.  Even though most of the time my mind tells me I am personally responsible for nearly everything that comes out of that beautiful mouth of his.  That I am accountable for all the movements he makes and choices he pursues. Even though this mind has staked my life on a one way silent agreement with God that he live a long, healthy and prosperous life - even though - he has his own path, his own way to make, his own thoughts.  He is his own grower.

I have a good life.

I have a roof over my head, money to pay my bills, a plethora of friends and love and family.  I have a voice that sings, music in my heart, and food in my belly.

I have a good life.

I can see and hear and my limbs work fine.  I can sit then stand I can breathe then hold my breath.  I have survived several wars of the mind and heart.  I have even died a thousand emotional deaths only to resurrect again and again and again.  I have a brother and sister whom I adore.  When I think of them tears come to my eyes. The complete and utter love that I have for them gives me goose bumps.

I have a good life.

Filled with wondrous children.  I get to hold them and hug them and kiss them and watch their little egos burst into life.  I get to coddle them and tell them how precious they are.  I get to see them buck authority and collapse into their parents ideas.  I get to watch them as they attempt to figure out which path to go, even though - there is no need to figure anything out.  I get to witness them not know this yet.

I have a good life.

And even though my life is miraculous in so many ways, I can still see... that part.  It lingers.  I feel it today.  It still drives the boat some of the time.  Even though my life unfolds as it will, and it's pretty good.  I suffer still sometimes.  I sense the unhealed part of me all of the sudden.  Out of nowhere it comes and out of nowhere it will go back to once I've paid it the respect it tells me it deserves.  The empty part of this mind that decided life has no purpose.  The day the mind told me "there is no God."

I suddenly remember the day it happened.  You know what I'm talking about, we have many days like this as the mind moves on through time and space.  When the carpet is pulled from beneath us and suddenly we've changed.  Oh I remember it well.  The decision that I was to take care of the world.  I was a caretaking trainee.  The decision that this was my only role, purpose.  Otherwise, there was no purpose to life, there couldn't be after this devastating day.

Fifteen years old.  I stood in the family line up while the visitors waited to pass on to us their heartfelt condolences.  Most of them in shock and pretending not to be.  The line was at least a mile long down main street.  The Amici Funeral home was now his residence and tomorrow the ground and the dirt would be his new humble abode.  The visitors came one by one and there I stood next to my barely making it schizo-effective mother - she was everyone's concern.  "Take care of your mother Steph" the visitors would whisper as they hugged me and moved onto whomever was standing next to me.  My little brother and sister got to swim that day.  I was older though, and needed to brave it.

"Make sure your mother is okay Steph", "Take care of your mother Steph", "Your mother needs you Steph."

It became a mantra that day.  For two days straight this went on.  For two days as I watched the pale white cold body lay there in a shiny wooden box.  A body that just three days ago I called Daddy.  How odd that we all gather and visit and laugh and hug and talk while the cold pale body stuffed with chemicals just passively lay in the corner in the box that will have dirt thrown on it.

Finally, I've made it through.  It is now 8:50 pm, ten minutes until my freedom.  My jaw aches from smiling and holding back tears.  My mind agreed with the visitor's - I could not cry because I needed to be strong for my mother.  So for two days I did not cry.  I stood stoic next to this woman who - my mind told me -needed me.  Finally I go to kneel with my Daddy, I touch his arm.  I notice the part of the box that is propped open.  This part will close tomorrow and I will never see his body again, except for in my mind.  For a moment I realize that this is the only place I see body's anyways.. dead or alive, in my mind, but my ego is not ready to accept this deep reality, so I push it away.  Ahhh.. Daddy, his nose ... that long chiseled Irish nose.  The one that turned red after a six pack or two.  I touch his hand.  It's so cold.  I kneel and visit for two minutes and then I break down crying.  And here come the adults.  Six of them swoop me up and pull me outside.  My mind panics, internally I scream... "noooooooooooo!!!!  I want to see my Daddy!  I want to see him before the box closes forever.  Don't take me, let me cry, let me scream!!"  Externally, I oblige.  Too tired to resist, exhausted from taking care of my mother.  I just let them take me.  And outside their thoughts become clear.

 "You'll be stronger for this Steph", Honey, don't cry, it will be okay", "Steph, you have to pull it together, especially for your mother."  "Okay" I say.  And then before I know it the box is closed and the dead, cold body that I use to call Daddy has dirt thrown in its face.

Even though my life is good.  Even though... I see a part of me that believes there is no purpose.  I have no purpose.  No matter how many of my loved ones see me as good and wonderful.  No matter how many people I hug, hold and help.  No matter how many rays of sunshine hit my face, a part of me died that day.  A part of me that needed to grieve and needed to understand but wasn't allowed to.  My mind did not allow me to.  Instead of going inside and staying with myself and holding myself myself and listening to my very own stories of grief I went outside.  I left myself cold and tried to make my mother warm.  And I couldn't.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not save her.

Even though I am still here and I smile and laugh so hard and love so big, a part of me has been dead.  Purposeless.  Resigned.  A part of me layed down with my Daddy and stayed with him.  Didn't let go.  I gave up.  I couldn't make sense out of the body that I thought was him, just laying there. It didn't make sense that once the box closed and locked I would never see him again.

I have a good life.

Even though I buried my dreams that day.  Even though my chances of thriving were nil to nothing that day.  Even though my life took a drastic 180 degree turn that day.  Even though... I still stand.  I am still here.

My mind is pounding me with thoughts... and even though... I still hear myself say... Is any of  this really true? Can I know for sure that any of these thoughts are really true? No, I can't ever know anything for sure.

I look back and see all the things I ate over.  I am able to sit with myself as I notice my hardened grief.  Deep grief that is ready to dissipate.  Grief that is ready to go back to nothingness, nowhere.  Grief that I thought this fat and food protected me from for many years.  I am now grateful for the fat and the food.  It got me through when I didn't know a better way.  I have been able to create amazing things with my mind and life because of this fat and food.  I will never regret it or reject it.  I honor it, thank it.  Even as it transitions out of my life, I watch it go with reverence, NEVER with dismay or disgust.  There is nothing bad or wrong about this fat or food addiction.  Nothing.  It is God too.  And I will not ever disrespect it.  Or if I do, I will come to my senses as quickly as I can.  Thank you fat and food.  Thank you.

I have a good life... even though.