Helicopters and rain tears.

I didn't know it was possible to feel that much pain, to cry as hard as the rain was pouring, to feel so completely alone, isolated, small, and utterly beaten down.  Driving with nothing but the sound of tires through puddles on the highway to break the silence of my sobs.  Searching for safety, with nothing but an oversized hoodie to sleep in that night, crawling into unfamiliarity while clutching my puppy and a warm tea.

It's exactly like what she said to me though. I'm waiting for my helicopter.   When you break your leg on the top of a mountain in the snow, it's not up to you to figure out a way to get off the mountain. How to get onto the snowmobile, get down the mountain, get medical care, and get your leg fixed.  It's not up to you to heal your leg in speedy time. That analogy somehow brought me peace, knowing that all I had to do was breathe, rest in this pain, and wait.  Wait for my helicopter ride, whatever that may be, and whenever that may be.

I know there are lessons to be had here.  And I know there are things I'm already learning, discovering, and embracing about myself.  I yearn for the day when this becomes a distant memory and I can have the healing that I know I deserve, because I never deserved the pain in the first place.

If I can come out stronger for it, better for it, and somehow find closure in it, I would be happy.  I know that day will come, and as hard as it is to acknowledge the fact that day is not today, I know it will. 

Transitive

The last few weeks to a month have been rich with a warmth not unlike the feeling of a familiar return to a comfortable home. It's brought a rush of memories through my heart of many beautiful things. Of comfy walks through parking lots, of good jokes and Iron Giant comments, of pool tables and movie theaters, arcade games and deep conversations, of swinging on the porch with fresh homemade lemonade, of a voice I hold dear and laughter ringing through the silence, and of warm embraces on chilly nights.

Where or how the gap in that familiarity occurred, I am unsure. I do remember snow, and standing in the kitchen of my Lakeway house, looking down when I realized there would have to be some time in between the moments. Moments I wished to continue, but respected a need to let go. 

At that same token, I also rest easy in the more recent memory of sitting on an uncomfortable chair as I began to bask in a moment I hoped but didn't think would ever come. Photographs and kind words and a truth that showed me I wasn't really that crazy after all. Or at least not alone in the crazy. 

Amidst the excitement and anticipation I still suffered with downfalls in the best intended plans. Moments I felt were stolen from us. Disappointment as most of the fruit of our efforts resulted in unwanted obstacles that prevented the very time I desired so much to share. I don't think there was anything that pained me more, at the time. 

And yet, I still received that warmth, even from far away. And despite the lack of personal interaction, I didn't feel the distance, I only felt love. In the form of understanding and empathy, a care that I find unusually rare in this world. To feel that familiarity as before, again now, only renewed, is something truly special to me. 

Through the pain of loss I received comfort. Through the fear of further loss I received reassurance, which has arrived ten fold beyond just words and now manifests as a hopeful new beginning of moments that feel simultaneously like a delighted return to familiar and something new all in the same. 

Looking back I see the magic that has always been there. And while these moments are more than just comfort through loss but also a pure joy unlike anything else, I still will never forget his words to me in response, and really feel I must record them here so I never forget. 

A person's life and being lives on through you and what you do to others. How you now shape the world is a part of what they've given to you. Transitive. Energy. What they are can never be destroyed. They never leave you. They were a part of you before who you are now. Their lives and their passing gives you perspective on the life you now live. They not only live on through you, but also through the people you affect. It's never ending. We are nothing except those who brought us here. Good and bad, we are the accumulation of human interaction. Love and friendship and pain and sorrow. 

To me, those words are beautiful, defining a side of the human condition we often fail to acknowledge. A presence, a life and love, an energy, a truth. That those who affect us never leave us, nor do we leave them. I'm less afraid of loss now and instead find myself feeling bright and joyful for what's to come.