Usually, I'm the strong one. I hold others up, let them seek whatever glimmer of light there is, and help them turn up the wattage until they shine and glow all on their own. Through words carefully chosen sometimes with silence or a caring touch, unerring encouragement and belief in their heart, their core. Usually, I am the strong one. Absorbing tears and frustrations; mirroring back confidence in small progressions, feeding tenacity. Knowing when to push or hold. Knowing quiet says more, sometimes, when mouthed platitudes fall on disbelieving or deafened ears. Sharing acceptance when options fail, but being there nonetheless. I feel unusual: unable, this time, to accept what cannot be changed. Wanting to hold on to what is now but mist or smoke. I can't capture the spirit, can't reach through the blank. Helpless. When the one who fixes doesn't have the parts: permanently out of stock. She is going extinct before my eyes; her brain wiping clean the most extraordinary of slates. There is nothing I can do but watch as her essence is erased. Serenity, thus far, escapes me. No blame in her direction, not her choice to be in the place her mind is. Not a blessed thing about me. Yet the pain of being lost, of ceasing to exist for her hurts knife deep. Logic wars with emotion. They say you don't miss what you have never known. Her loss is immeasurable to me; but maybe, perhaps, it is easier for her. And in that, I will find strength. |