Excerpt from Married to the SEAL Teams: Lessons in Love
When I least expect it the missing burns white hot just under my skin and I fold myself in half, wrap my arms around my knees and wait for it like I’m a kid on a toboggan racing down an icy hill with fat trees in my path. Time slows into long, long moments when I know I’m going to get hurt, and badly. And I do. But I steer into it now because the impact kindles my strength.
Like I’m Firewalking again, I feel your presence. In spirit, you watch and wait until I stand up and move on and I hear, “Hooyah, Babe!” when I need it most of all.
Silence does have a sound.
And there is no statute of limitations on missing.
I still want to curl into a ball and wail loudly and for so long that God gives in and gives up and gives you back and we can do our forever again. Instead, I took our forever as my own and wrapped its precious fragility with memories and scars. And now we know it was never safely bound by hope or adventures or things.
I give things away now – two at a time – because it is not my place to convince others they don’t need things.
Things are ephemeral. Like me on the side of the cliff in Sperlonga with you on billet. Half way up I lose my strength, then my grip. I scream, “I need something!” And you laugh. Laugh! Sure of yourself, sure of me. You roar, “You don’t need one damn thing but me, baby. Suck it up. Climb!” And I do. Sobbing and spent I stand on the top of that cliff with bloody hands and legs and shout, “You’re supposed to save me, you ass!”
You say, “I just did.”
These tiny scars are white hot tokens of my strength.
The children carry their own scars. One returned to balancing himself in the ocean, in currents strong with peace. One remains strong in faith, has no fear and lives without a net. And our youngest wears his strength softly cloaked in a soul so tender I’m reminded where love lives.
They circle me carefully now because I am alone in this forest, wild and fierce.
And I am stronger than I have ever been.
To remind me of this I keep my missing in a box under our bed packed with memories that fill me up. The things of our forever may never be the same, but the rough edges of my grief have been smoothed away into missing.
Still, your spirit softens and delights me like the memory of waking up from afternoon naps to find your hand on my heart. I say, “What?” and you smile that smile and say, “I was missing you.”
White hot love.
In a box now… to remind me that if we had our forever again
I would still hold the map upside down and prove to be the worst navigator in history. This would piss you off in no small way, but I’d make you laugh until you cried at the abundance of life when we find ourselves on a goat trail in France.
And I would still throw the level down and dance through the pasture to All Summer Long while you toiled over a horse fence. Sure, you’d yell. But your heart would smile until your arms reached out. Then, I’d make you dance with me because… really, honey, level is all in perspective.
And I would still love just to fight and fight just to love like the very first time was the very last time every single time.
I do not know the exact moment our forever became my missing, but as it turns out, missing is not a thing to be put away or given up or ignored.
Missing is an ember hell bent on igniting a white hot strength for life.
Lynnette Bukowski, All rights reserved June 2012 ©
13 thoughts on ““White Hot” Rainy Morning Letters #720”
This one brought me to my knee’s . I love you honey
Chills, the entire time I read this. You capture love, the hope of forever, and the rude awaking loss brings so beautifully. What a deep and wonderful love you have had. I feel the same, blessed with a man who loves me so well. Thank you for reminding me to cherish every minute.
This went right to my heart and will stay there. Your words say it so beautifully.
Your words went right to my heart and will stay there. You say it so beautifully.
Reblogged this on grace beyond grace and commented:
A rainy fall morning and I am suspended between words and oil paints…
You captured the feelings perfectly. That’s much of what I have been feeling lately with John’s first birthday since he passed coming up. I will be so relieved when this year of “firsts” is past. Relieved is not the best word. But it will be a major milestone.
Lurie, I honestly believe grief is different for each one of us with a common thread that holds true: as long as we allow the “feelings” to wash over us there is an ebb and tide and we move forward stronger and more aware of life. Anniversaries still come at me like giant waves, but the great thing about year two and thereafter is, I see them coming and know I can ride it out. The sharp edges smooth. You are doing beautifully finding joy in small moments. Love to you..
Love this. Your prose is poetry.
Thank you, Julia, for your kind words and for taking the time to read my writings.
It’s my pleasure.
As always, I need a tissue when I read your words. Thank you for sharing your heart.
I agree with Chief Allmon. https://twitter.com/billyallmon/status/394163674828779520
Lynn is a World Class Pen.
Over the past half-century there have been many people whom I wish I could have met.
Master Chief is different though.
In his case, I wish he had been my personal long term mentor when I was young. I imagine his profound impact on any youth/teen/20-something guy.
Deeply touched by your words, Ed. Thank you.