Bravado

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If we burn our wings flying to close to the sun, if the moment of glory is over before its begun…

I know some of these blogs begin to sound repetitive, and I don’t know if I’m trying to convince myself or you the reader of all of these things – but none the less, here it is.

As I was sitting at the Rush concert a week ago, I was disappointed when where ”Dreamline” was supposed to be played (based on the setlist Joel and I had discovered online) they played a song called ”Bravado”, off of the same album, Roll the Bones. (they DID end up playing ”Dreamline”, which is THE song that has fit what I have experienced through out this process, and it was AMAZING). As they played, I thought of the words – words I hadn’t really payed attention to in years, but that seemed so powerful listening to them that night… …and they have echoed since. …I decided that on today, the 2 month anniversary of my Sweet Shelby’s death, ”Bravado” would be the theme.

The theme of this song is simple… …striving for greatness, in life, in love, in whatever aspect of your life, sometimes leads to disaster. Sometimes it leads to a financial crisis or crash. Sometimes it leads to sickness or death. …but that it isn’t always the fight that leads to these disasters. …sometimes it is simply out of our control. In the end, however, it is what you take away from these experiences, how you allow it to mold you that matters.

A little over two months ago, I KNEW that Michele was coming home. I had already begun to make plans regarding how we’d deal with childcare, holidays, etc because I knew after the amount of time she had spent down that we were in for a long haul of rehab and that we’d be lucky to have her home in time for our anniversary in February. …but in what seemed like the blink of an eye, it was over. There I sat, in our house, a home we built together, made together, having gone from the urgency to get my ass to the hospital to spend as much time there, making sure she was doing ok, making sure she was getting what she needed, as possible to having nothing to do. Going from worrying daily, dreaming, eating, breathing something to nothing, cold turkey was a real shock to my system, after 6 weeks.

The perception of the passage of time is so altered. When I look at a calendar, I can see that is’t been 2 months since I lost Shelby. …but it feels like a year… or years. I don’t know if anyone who hasn’t lived through this could possibly understand this part of it. Gabe told me to expect it, and he was so right, so dead on, that it’s scary when I think back to that first conversation he and I had at Fuzzy’s. Then I consider what has transpired in that time. Professionally. Personally. All the new people I have met. All the old friends who have made it a point of being a part of my life when I needed people and love around me the most. My days have been so full, so much going on, doing so much, it’s hard for me to understand how this perception of time can still be what it is. …it used to be that when I was busy, when I had so much going on, time ran past me at a rate that really blew my mind. …but now, what I’m doing, where I am doesn’t seem to impact how I perceive time in the least. I keep brining this up because it is probably one of the most unusual and difficult to cope with aspects of where I am right now.

The holidays have been a roller-coaster so far. Thanksgiving day was so difficult, that morning, realizing for the first time that there were to be no more with her. …realizing that it would never again be the same. …not that it can’t be happy or wonderful, but never the same. …and leading into Christmas now, so obvious – so clear how different this year will be. I (not we) put up the Christmas tree last night. Mia and I decorated it while Chase admired all of the pretty ornaments one at a time. So much of what is on that tree is us. First child, new home, Michele & her sisters, us. …and the series of Hallmark ornaments she started collecting the year we had our first tree in Gary’s and My apartment in Denton. 15 years worth. …4 days away from beginning to celebrate Hanukkah, and realizing I don’t know the prayers. (don’t worry, I’ll figure out how to read hebrew enough to make you proud – or make your laugh. Either way, I’ll have a smile on my face). …but once I got through it, once I cried, once I wrenched in agony over kick to the groin that is not having you here to face the holidays with, I stepped back and looked at the tree. …and I smiled. Christmas was always such a happy time, and filled with so many happy and joyous memories of the two of us, the three of us and eventually the four of us, that I can’t be TOO upset or angry. It was just another little hurdle I had to clear. Just another reality to face. …but the value of the memories, the joy and happiness they remind me of so outweighs the pain, it makes it easy to look at our tree and smile.

…inevitably, the 4th rolls around. …as it will each month. That morning slap to the face, which isn’t an everyday occurrence anymore, thankfully, but certainly was today. The kids and I will go visit Mommy this afternoon, take her flowers and will talk, cry, pray and hug each other, and promise never to forget her, never to let go of her memory for even a moment. it will be hard, going there, which I do often, always is. …but leaving there, I always feel comfort and warmth because I know she’s with me, guiding me and continuing to love and care for me as she always has.

In the shadow of death and loss comes new life. This weekend I held a newborn baby in my arms, the grand-daughter of someone very dear to me, and I talked to her, grinned stupidly as she cooed at me, and yet I couldn’t help but think of Michele, and how much joy young children, especially babies brought her. Our kids. Friend’s kids. It struck me how beautiful this child is, and how much joy Shelby would have in knowing this Shelby. Holding this little girl made me feel as young as when the Earth were new. It reminded me that we are all immortal in the children, memories and love we leave behind. …this is something Michele knew quite well. Something I am beginning to understand more and more every day.

Miracles continue – not a week passes that I don’t see something or have something happen to me that can be explained as anything other than communication from Michele and/or God. Pushing me forward. Letting me know that the acceptance of what has happened is the biggest hurdle, and that I cleared it. …now its just about living with it. Some days that is easier than I ever imagined it would be. Others, far more difficult than I ever imagined I could cope with. Yet every night I close my eyes, and every morning, the sun rises again, beckoning me back into the light, out into my life. To live, laugh and love again.

I love you Michele. Always and Forever!

If love remains, Though everything is lost, We will pay the price, But we will not count the cost.

”Bravado”

If we burn our wings
Flying too close to the sun
If the moment of glory
Is over before it’s begun
If the dream is won
Though everything is lost
We will pay the price
But we will not count the cost

When the dust has cleared
And victory denied
A summit too lofty
River a little too wide
If we keep our pride
Though paradise is lost
We will pay the price
But we will not count the cost

And if the music stops
There’s only the sound of the rain
All the hope and glory
All the sacrifice in vain
(And) If love remains
Though everything is lost
We will pay the price
But we will not count the cost

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One Comment

  1. Lynn
    Posted 12/06/2012 at 8:36 PM at 8:36 PM | Permalink

    Hi Scott, my condolences for your loss. I have read your posts and I have to admit it is painful to read. I noticed you have said a couple times that you believe you will find happiness and love again. I heard the song “Feel Again” by One Republic today, and the lyrics made me think of you. I wish you the best in finding happiness and love again!

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