|The Lukewarm Cooling... Pre memorial serivce thoughts
||[Feb. 26th, 2011|09:49 am]
|[||Tension level in the room is
I'm standing in the shower this morning... getting ready to go to a memorial service for a friend who committed suicide. Trying to imagine my reception, if any, at said event. That's the problem with making your closest friends your family. If you weren't good with family to begin with it isn't likely to end well.
The train of thought led me to a pop culture reference (of course, in today's world, what doesn't).
We aren't "The Big Chill".
No Kevin Kline, Jeff Goldblum, Glenn Close, William Hurt, Marykay Place or JoBeth Williams. Blissfully no Meg Tilly. And yet... it still sticks in the mind.
A group of friends come together after a long time away for the memorial of a friend who had committed suicide.
Unfortunately, my guess is that is where the similarities will end. We won't be having a weekend long get together filled with pot, fighting, making up, classic hits and dreams of misspent youth and semi fulfilling adulthood.
We didn't meet in college though our formative, first steps of adulthood were taken while leaning on each others shoulders. We lived in a loose Celtic knot work of cohabitation that continues in one form or another to this day. We loved each other, hurt each other and ourselves, made up or haven't... all the things that are the heart of the reality in the fantasy that is the plot of "The Big Chill"
But only the heart of the reality. And hearts are on the inside, unseen. Out of sight, out of mind the saying goes.
The outside has all the warts, extra weight, wrinkles and gray hairs that are the body of reality. Or all the illusions we build over those things to maintain appearances. And all the scars. Always the scars... that we have given each other and ourselves. All that outside is heavy, so hard to carry around.
Maybe I'm being self pitying here... as I have had one of the sharpest knives in my hand throughout the years. Too many others I will see today are wearing the defensive wounds of my striking out, often at those who weren't even there.
But I wish there would be a Hollywood ending. I want us all to heal, to sit and find away back to the heart of who we were and somehow still are inside, despite the years the mirror shows us.
Maybe this is just my way of trying to find some hope in what is otherwise a gray, sad cold day... hope that there is redemption for us here somewhere, even for me.
Does it sound selfish? Probably but the truth is these things aren't for the those who are gone. Its for those of us still here. And of all the things to come out surely hope is one of the best...