It is a new month. February. Black history month. Celebrations of love. Valentine's day soon approaches. And while I am seriously single for the first time in forever, I am not hating the thought of spending this time alone. I am not afraid of it. As a matter of fact, I am excited by the prospect of celebrating this feeling I seem to always feel and occasionally embody. Love.
Last year, I spent Valentine's Day 3000 miles away from my partner. At that time, I didn't know we were at the beginning of the end of our relationship. I was sad. I was depressed to be with someone but so seperated. I spent the day enjoying the sunshine of my princess. We crafted and colored cards for her brother and father back in new york. Together we made a red velvet cake, and healthy dinner of shrimp alfredo with steamed broccoli. Then, joined by our third generation, my mother, all ate dinner together. Us three lonely hearts clung to one another as supplement for the loves we were missing. As I reflect on it now, it was probably the beginning of the beginning of my current state of being.
Meaning the ability I have aquired over the last year to be content with myself. To be happy with my own company. To be love in the depths of my thoughts. Everyday I wake up now with an energy I can't explain. I am filled with what I can only describe as love.
Case in point, this weekend. Friday night while intending to run a simple errand in Brooklyn, picking up my photos, I ended up in the middle of amazing conversation with beautiful minded artists & thinkers. Maybe because it was unexpected, maybe it was because my spirit craved the company of people. Whatever the reason, something so simple, was made amazing in my memory. After a while I make my way to leave to head to a going away party of a good friend who is leaving this week to begin his new life in the US Army. I'm so drunk off alcohol and good vibes that I'm walking down 55th street freestyling on video. Nearly at my destination, I notice an ambulance ahead, and like any nosey human, I stop my recording to see what happened. And for a moment time stands still as I recognize the face of the injured, bleeding man being taken away is my wasband. Upon my brains regiatration of this fact, I am knocked back into sobriety. Yet I hear myself saying, "I am his wife. What happened?". I know its no longer a position I hold, yet I keep informing the paramedics about his medical history. I know its not what I am anymore but I claim it anyway, begining the motions of emergency protocal. Holding his hand so he knows he's not alone, checking for coherency. I thought it was the alcohol but I realize its the love inside of me. This energy that has consumed me since the Universal time shift last December (more on that in another post). This energy guiding my actions and thoughts. This energy allowing me to not get caught up in past facts, lets me love him still without the need to possess him. Its this energy that reminds me that I will always be his wife, and its okay for me to care for and about him because its my selfish need to care for him. Because no matter how far we go or who else we come to love and share our lives with, he and I will forever be connected. So it is okay to love him. With this distance, I am able to love him more. Love him correctly, the way I did originally, freely. Without necessity to control, possess, judge, prove, pacify, condemn, or obligate. In this space, we are fulfilled & happy individuals. I remained by his bedside all night until I could be sure it would be okay to leave.
My Saturday began with a cup of coffee as the sun rose over John Jay Campus. I get uptown in time to share a snack of fruit with our kids before we get ready for Ni's first day of 3 year old journey. We go and enjoy ouselves, come back for lunch and naps but I can't sleep. I'm still worried, becoming more and more concerned with the state of their father in the hospital. So as soon as relief comes, I return to his side. His condition has worsened from when I left 9 hours prior. As necessary, my love once again transforms me into former roles of health care provider & advocate. Spreading my disappointment around the emergency room until the doctors & nurses take notice
of this man in need of care. I learned he had been ignored for hours. Thought to be discharged and simply awaiting a ride, he was left to suffer on the side of an empty pit desk. His bed, so low, the counter blocked any visability of him. He went unexamined or checked up on from 1:30 until I raised a stink around 6pm. They finally take action and allow me a moment of relief. I go outside to call family and update them. But as soon as my face meets the winter air, I crumble. I slide into a low crouch, hug my knees and cry. For the time it takes me to smoke a cigarette, I cry without stopping or shame. I never like crying, especially in public. I always feel wrong because I always hate to not answer passersby who always want to know "whats wrong?". Because what do you say when nothing is wrong? Maybe the truth, that its a natural reaction to stress. That I am afraid he may die. That I am scared that he will relapse. When really the truth is, I am crying because I fear my love is still wasted on him. That once he is better, he may come to forget how much and how well I cared for him when I didn't have to. He may make decisions that hurt more then help because he feels protected by them, yet not realize all I still do to protect him. And that I do all this out of love because I want to not because I have to, I cried for all of this and for him.
Once I pull myself together, I return to assure him I'll be back and remind the doctors that I'm watching them. Then its back to Harlem for the nightly ritual with the kids. Dinner. Bath. Story. Bed.
Emotionally wound, I find my release on a stage at tge S.W.A.G. Open Mic in Brooklyn. I did one freestyle, 1 written, and received so much love in return. So much appreciation that I was renewed. I continue on into the freshly falling snow to attend a good friends first saturday party. She lives across from the museum and opens her home for all of us to comnune. Usually inviting some wonderful, little known, artist to adorn her walls. Surrounded on all sides by beauty, art, love, and intelligent conversation reminded me to do a shout out to my life. That I am blessed beyond compare to have people and spaces and outlets in my life that keep giving me what I need exactly when I need it.
I went home alone. Spending my last bit of pay on a much needed cab home. Collapsing into the big, warm bed, I drifted into sleep almost instantly until 3pm the next afternoon. I can't remember what I dreamed. But whatever it was, it was a most peaceful sleep. Renewing. Reviving. It was during my phone call to the hospital to check up on wasband I realized that I had not slept for two days. I know I didn't register that fact until that moment, so I could be reminded of the power love gives me. The stamina & fortitude it fills me with so I may be all I need to be for those I love. In that moment, I also realized, whether he appreciates or ever chooses to acknowledge me for what I do for him doesn't matter. Because I don't do it for recognition or for a pleasant attitude or even for him. I do it because thats what love demands. I am satisfied knowing he still draws breath. That he will be here another day to continue being a great father to our children. My love contributed to that. And so I am fulfilled. I am happy. I am thankful.
Had this been a different time, he would not have been a second thought. I would have passed him on the street that night, seeing he was with his friend. I would have been the "uberbitch" people tell me I should be with him. When I imagine having acted like that now, the thought makes me sick. I am seeing how far I have come and how much I have healed. I am not bitter, resentful, or vindictive. When he decided on divorce, I was full of rage for so many things, mostly because I had lost hope. I had let my hurting lead me to believe that I would never feel love like this. In my hurt, I believed that him leaving me was a sign that ni one could love me and vice versa. As I write this, I laugh with my spirit as if it was an inside joke. Because I was wrong. I found love in a hopeless place. I'm now perfectly at peace. For that I smile.
Love & Light,
C. Joi Sanchez
www.jsanschez.wordpress com
