In the beginning, we believe our love is a shield. We tell ourselves the Noble Lie — that if we just care hard enough, we can bargain with the end. But eventually, the bargaining stops. The shadows lengthen. You find yourself in the backseat of a car running out of gas, watching the one thing you cannot fix breakdown with every rotation of the earth around the sun. This is the moment the Saint, who begged for a miracle, becomes the Witness of her life spinning out of control.
In the maelstrom pounding her senses into dust, she must choose to breakfree or be roasted on the pyre of her own martyrdom.
My exodus from inhabiting the role of Saint began the day I chose to not throw the dinner tray at my husband where he lay in bed, waiting. Saint’s don’t throw things in anger. They swallow their pain and smile instead.
Deprived the right to throw things at a sick man, I chose instead to hurl consonants and vowels at the page. Word by excruciating word.
At first, still trapped in the neediness of my Good Girl personna, my poetry was all about the Love I was trying to sustain. But you can’t sustain a dying anything on pretty words and lies. It takes deep honesty. A willingness to speak ‘the ugly truths’ to free yourself from the web of the Noble Caregiver.
When first I began, I thought I needed to find my wild woman within. I was wrong. That wild woman wasn’t focused on thriving. She only wanted to survive by ignoring reality and throwing herself into the abyss of the lie posing as a noble sacrifice, “Love will find the way”.
Love is the way, but Love never demands self-sacrifice.
It was a hard truth to swallow. For years I’d been jettisoning my needs to lighten my load. But in that act, I buried myself alive under the regrets, resentments and shame of believing, I didn’t matter.
I matter. And that’s the truth.
The Sovereignty of the Rake by Louise Gallagher Wild woman scavenging windfall searching for a pathway out of the darkness Sovereign woman raking mindless clutter clearing away windfall obscuring the light.
My friend --- nobody needs to hold up a mirror so that you can see and hear yourself; but we can tell you're full of it, and describe what the 'it' is that you are full of. Your words: 'but Love never demands self-sacrifice' is dead-wrong, don't you think? I think love demands self-sacrifice ALL the time, and when things are easy, we don't call it that, but it is. I can't imagine anyone would trade roles with you right now - or that you would trade what you are doing and where you are. Let me ask you: you knew full well about the COPD and the path you were on before you married. What would you do differently, right now ... if you could wave a magic wand to take you back to who you were, and when you made those choices, pledged troth and promised aloud in front of witnesses, what would you do? ... I liked your reference to a rake. I think we've all had an accidental stepping on a rake, only to be bonked on the nose by the handle. I wish you some laughs as a counterpoint to the grief, wailing and tears. You need levity, and he does too - I'm sure. Cheers, Mark .... p.s. There is a stand-up film by Sarah Silverman about death, her parents' experiences. If you've not seen it, check it out: Sarah Silverman - Post Mortem