Today marked one month since everything changed. Wednesday June 24th, 2015. The day I so desperately tried to save a life. I can tell you the last thirty days have been difficult. I cope. I grieve. Some nights I sleep. Most nights I’m awake. I cry in the dark when nobody is around. I hide my pain. The wounds on my feet have healed. The scars are there as a constant reminder to me and everyone I know. No one can see the damage inside. It hasn’t healed. I don’t know that it ever will.
The pain comes out of nowhere and punches me in the gut. All the ugly hangs out. You can’t see it. I feel it. Everyday. I’ve poured myself into my work. I haven’t been writing. I haven’t written since my tribute to Jeff. My words were too dark to share. I’ve occupied my mind with The Original Bunker Punks Website the past three weeks. I’ve kept myself busy publishing other writers and their works. I do enjoy publishing,editing and posting the work for other writers. Behind the scenes work has helped me so much.
My saving grace has been working on cars. I laid underneath a Nissan and changed out an air compressor in 100 degree weather. I was relaxed. I had clarity and mostly I felt peace. Working under the hood of a car feels like home to me. I don’t know a lot but I learn more everyday. My best days are the ones when I come home covered in grease. My hair is matted with grease and refrigerant. The looks I get when I go into a store make me giggle. Cars are my therapy. Writing is my release.
My words have failed me lately. So has my car at times. I need a constant project car to continue my therapy. I have to trust my words again. I used to spill them across the page with ease. Now they hesitate leaving my mind. I’ve lost so much in translation. I hope the words will find me again. I’m a storyteller yet I can’t tell my store anymore. I feel I have no right being upset. My feelings aren’t valid. How can I be grieving for a man I didn’t know? I only met this man at the end of his story yet I’m entangled in it. Maybe these are normal feelings. I’ve lost people in a previous job. I never saw them. I was only the voice on the other end of the phone. It still hurt when I lost them. It’s a whole other ballgame when you are right there and feel them slip away.
I didn’t even think I just acted. I know I did the right thing. The right thing isn’t always easy to do. I have no regrets for jumping in and trying like hell. The aftermath never crossed my mind. I live in it everyday. I’ve thought about Jeff, his family and his friends everyday since he left this world. I know he gave me purpose. I’m struggling with it. My son was there that day. I sent him away but I caught him watching. I hope he will help others as I do. I didn’t want him to see anything that happened in the parking lot that day. I hope he understands how fragile life is now. When you are a teenager you usually don’t grasp how precious life is. I can only hope he will carry this with him and learn from it. I’m still learning from this experience.
The Aftermath is ugly. Peace isn’t mine yet. Forgiving myself will help me heal. Forgiveness isn’t easy. Doing the right thing isn’t easy. Guilt is keeping me prisoner. Letting go seems so easy, yet I can’t. I have purpose. I’m still learning. Aren’t we all?