last night i went upstairs to my bedroom and sought out a corner of my life that exists on the closet floor. in the bottom drawer of an old chest of drawers are my journals and my writings from years passed. they are the chronicle of a life that i no longer am part of, but i discovered is always a part of me.
i was looking for kathy grabinsky, my former student who tragically died a few weeks ago in senseless robbery. i knew she was in the pages of my journal and the center of a poem i had written about her happy approach to life.
the poem, and kathy, were found. i reconnected with what i had seen 20 years ago, and in the process of finding her again, i also found a part of me that i had forgotten about.
kathy wasn't mentioned in my journals. all the notes on her were together with the poem, which had gone through countless editings at the hands of two professional writers, robert hazel (now deceased) and naomi shihab nye. both helped me trim down the image to something that seems to capture her, sort of like a three dimensional polaroid picture, one fading in time, but still vivid in its own way. but in the process of looking for her, i reread the journals that i wrote during that time in my life, a time of upheaval and personal growth. while searching for her, i found a piece of me.
reading about what i thought then and what was important to me at that time helped me to appreciate some things about myself that i couldn't have seen back then. one thing concerns my writing. i was told countless times that i had talent and ability and i shouldn't waste it. i never took those accolades seriously, and i never attempted to do anything professionally. when i started writing this blog, it was my attempt to begin to write again. i wanted an outlet to express myself, and it seemed to be an easy thing to do. it is also safe. few know that i am writing here in my own corner of cyberspace, and no one comments. it allows me the freedom of just writing, and not writing for something or someone other than myself. i don't know if it is good or bad, and at this point, that doesn't really matter. the point is to express myself. i have.
reading my own words reminded me that i wasn't as completely selfish and petty has i remember myself to be. i philosophized a great deal about my life and solutions to it. i was honest about my feelings. and my words were written well.i had forgotten i could do that. and i am reminded that i can still do that should i choose to.
we all have our spiritual gifts, and one of mine i believe is writing and thinking. i am a good teacher, and i think that too is a gift. i am different, and in my old age i am learning to love that part of myself and make peace with it. i am finding that it is important to be comfortable in your own skin, to not constantly chafed at the direction that you have naturally taken. this is especially true when you are like me, one who has not exactly lived in the mainstream of life.
in her passing, kathy has given me a prize. it was three hours on a closet floor reconnecting some pieces. she was the glue last night, and, as a result, my life puzzle is stronger and more bonded. i am reminded by her passing that life is like water, always flowing. nothing really dies unless you will it so. we live in so many ways, so many forms. the ability to see the big picture, as i did for awhile last night, is a wonderful thing.
What a powerful message. Sometimes I wish I knew how to do that better, to be able to look back at my past and understand without overanalysis, and to put together the pieces of my life. I'm sorry for the loss of her life, especially considering the situation, but I'm glad that in some small way it helped you to find a part of yourself. I don't know if I ever told you about this, but the month after I graduated from college, one of my profs was murdered. Everyone loved her - we knew her intimately, she helped up not olnly with English but with life, hung out with us, always had her office open for tea if we needed some, and her death was overwhelming for everyone who knew her. I spoke at her funeral, and for me that ended up being a release and gave my some closure that others didn't get, but it also made me really made me take a look at what was important. She had nothing that the world would ever have wanted - she was frumpy, scattered, softly sang her way around the offices, baked us blondies, and by herself tried to raise two rebellious kids. But after her death, it reminded us what kind of people we all wanted to be, and that the stuff that deep down we all probably want - noteriety, prestige, recognition, etc. - really took a backseat for a while when we saw people flying in from literally all over the world to pay an enormous tribute to a woman who spent her life loving Christ and loving us. She actually changed us and showed us hwat was important. I think about it sometimes, and even though it wasn't that long ago, is seems like a totally different world and that I was a totally different person.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, kinnd of rambling. I miss you. Say hello to everyone for me.