Clandestine Confessions

“Do you have any siblings?”
He casually asked me back in February in between sips of his beer.
Leaning back in the booth, settling in comfortably to our temporary location.
We were at a bar in Park City waiting for our dinner reservation.
He had just shared a story about his brother.
The question was expected.
–
“I have an older brother.”
I left it at that.
Quickly shifting the conversation – onto his craziest ski adventure in Montana.
Told with intense passion and animation as he recollected every little detail of what will inevitably be one of his longest lasting memories.
I listened intently and eagerly, fully immersing myself in his words to force out any thoughts trying to intrude triggered by the ones I just spoke.
–
I was going to write out this whole explanation to justify that choice to stay silent regarding my family members.
But it would only be to appease the living, seek approval from those offended for doing what was right for me at that time.
I still stand by the decision.
Because healing looks different for everyone.
And for me, it looks like creating separation between the beauty of a moment and the pain of my past.
Understanding there is a time and place for such topics.
Neither of which this moment was.
The atmosphere too rich in joy and peace to alter with the mention of tragedy.
–
I made a promise to myself many years ago to never sacrifice unguaranteed breath by suffocating myself in grief.
To not punish myself over a tragedy I can never change, make better, or control.
To not die with another’s death.
It does not negate the agony of the absence I feel daily.
It is just me choosing to not let that emotion dictate the depth of my life.
–
And I knew, if I was supposed to share it, an opportunity would rise again.
And it would.
8 months later.
Once again while enjoying an evening out.
–
We were on the topic of books.
It was a natural progression following the talk of my writing.
He gave me recommendations – all three of which are expected to be delivered today.
“Why We Sleep” the one he is most excited for me to read.
“Because I think you could use a little help in that department,” he said with a grin, knowing of my chaotic sleep schedule.
Although said with jest, I could feel his intention…and it was pure and endearing.
–
I, having just discovered our mutual fascination regarding all matters of the brain, recommended “The Body Keeps the Score”.
Which ultimately landed us in the realm of trauma.
And how it changes us…
He shared how he watched the unexpected death of his friend’s mom completely alter his personality – despondent one year, reckless the next.
Going from one extreme to the other – not knowing how to live to then living so large it could take his life.
I could feel the undeniable pull as he was speaking.
Squirming in my seat in an effort to maneuver it out of my system.
Words now demanding release.
Biting my tongue to keep them contained.
I did not want to do it.
But knew I had to…
–
“There are two paths one can take after death. For me, after my sister died, I chose the one that would lead me to life. And I completely changed the course I was going in order to not risk my parents losing another child. Choosing to not take one more second for granted and just live for life, living boldly on behalf of those whose time was cut short.”
I watched his expression change.
It was not a look of pity but compassion.
His eyes got gentler.
His smile softer.
He slowly moved his arms from resting on the chair to the tabletop, his proximity to me growing closer.
“I am so sorry,” he said tenderly but strongly. The power of his words deeply infiltrating the heart with peace and empathy in all the places that needed healing.
In the spots searching to be seen.
“I had no idea.”
–
And what happened next I will appreciate more than he will ever know.
That was it.
He didn’t ask questions.
The how, the when, the details.
He left a moment of silence to offer me the space to speak more if I desired but put no pressure with inquisition to do so.
And when no more words emitted my lips, he let it rest.
Not forcing me past the level at which I felt comfortable to share.
–
Then within minutes we slipped seamlessly back into the life I have fought through hell and high water to call my own.
Back to sharing comically crazy dreams we both had this week.
Him buying a pink house.
And me receiving a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles emoji from him.
No time allowed for me to dangerously dwell in the question if living this life without her was still possible.
Or if I made a catastrophic mistake in no longer containing my past into a compartmentalized portion of my present with him.
The sound of laughter echoing through his car silencing any doubt of that.
Proving I was safe to be alive.
I was safe to continue living forward.
I was safe to surrender…my fear, my guilt, my worry, my distrust.
And I was safe for him to see more of what shame deemed me damaged.
For he gave me evidence that truth was a lie.
Through his words, his response, his vision.
–
We were now feeling the rumble of the avalanche coming towards us.
And I have no intention of moving us out of the way…