It’s the very last day of my Purple Life.
And it’s all packed up and ready to go.
I’m terrified. Up until now, I’ve hated the word ‘brave’.
But this time, I feel brave.
Because this is a choice. This isn’t just grinding on. This is flight, or fight.. or simper.
Stay, in a place where I’m expected to walk around with my tail between my legs, head down, displaying to the world that Tony was, indeed, correct- what a terrible person I am.
The same way I chose to be honest, with a story that was now mine, to prevent myself feeling suffocated, to prevent the shame and stigmas of this closing in on me… It feels the same as choosing to stand up now. To go, and be alone, in a quiet place, with my children, away from this.. toxicity.
I feel like I’m on the very edge of a cliff, ready to jump. Holding my breath.
Part of me longs for the crisp crack of the ocean, salt up my nose, my whole body immersed in feeling alive…
And another part of me, it waits for the body slam, that drives the air from my lungs and turns the air black with stars… (I took a friend with me to HomeTown, last night, and we stood on the beach and looked at the millions of stars, the milkiness of asteroid belt… “This is where they all run to, all the stars. They come here.”)
I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing. Two rainbows in two days, that seems to tell me yes.
I don’t care. I’ll figure out if this is right thing when I get there.(What if the light at the end of the tunnel is actually the headlight of an oncoming train…?)
This happened so quickly.. three months ago, I was normal. I heard Wanderlust speak at the ABC,and she mentioned ‘cognitive dissonance’.. how long it takes for the mind to catch up, when your physical circumstances change so quickly.
My head is still reeling. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but every instinct in body is telling to run from this trauma, run somewhere safe, so my mind can process it properly.
I bought home a child to this house, and birthed another one right here, in my backyard. I entered this house, deliriously happy, with my boyfriend who would become my fiancee who would become my husband.
I celebrated one single, perfect, happy wedding anniversary here.
I laughed and sang and danced with Tony here.
This was our home. The place where we were both so blissfully happy, with our little life.
It was the happiest either of us had ever been, and we said that to each other so many times.
Those memories.. I keep.
I have plenty, that I want to leave behind.
A creaking rope, as I shook him, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Standing, saying, thinking, he was bluffing, he had to be, he was on a garden chair and his feet would touch the ground, how could he possibly hang himself?
A moment, the moment, the first night this happened, an hour after leaving Tony in the ICU, realising that this was over, really over, that he was my best friend and no matter what happened from here on in, I would never talk to him ever again, screaming that and pulling at my own hair and walking, walking, walking in circles because it was the only thing that took the edge of the pain. Like childbirth, but so prolonged.
Saying to my shrink.. “I can’t believe this has happened to my life“, and her looking me straight in the eye and saying, “Lori, neither can I.”
A social worker, next to Tony’s bed, crying and swearing and telling em how fucking unfair this was, there was not a single thing here that told her this man wanted to die.
The heavy, heavy feeling of waiting for your brother, who will carry the casket, to drive you to your husband’s funeral. Saying to him, when he arrives, “This is… sad. That’s all I’m feeling. Sad.” (And sadness, it’s such a heavy, heavy thing, my torso weighed tonnes, my legs were immovable objects.)
Telling my son, his daddy had died, and would not be coming back.
Wishing there was a note.
Being eternally grateful there was not one, that this was not planned.
Laying on my best friends lounge, eyes swollen from crying, trying to close my eyes, and seeing nothing but a blue shirt, orange rope, feeling the dead weight of husband’s body beneath my hands as I shook him.
All of those, I leave behind.
And the ones I can’t leave.. hopefully the sea, the salt, will wash away them away.
OK, my lovely jellybeans… this is Lori, signing off, for the last time, from the Purple House…. I’m quite literally about to turn off my computer and pack it in a box, so I’ll be back in a day or two. Let’s make a date for Sunday, but please don’t hold it against me if I stand you up.
Hold your breath, close your eyes…. and jump.