We'll, I've just about done it. Seems it has been my goal all along without even realizing it, but now it is as clear as day.
I've been trying to disappear completely and I'm almost there.
Since Silas passed away I've been step by step letting go of everything that can't help me. Friends that can't handle my sadness, gone. My previous car: rear-ended while I was not in it, and then subsequently totaled by the insurance company. The future I expected as Lu grew grew and grew, utterly and completely altered, that specific path annihilated forever. Even money itself. We've never had much and I've worked hard to not focus on money as a source of completion and happiness. Instead I've tried to just put my head down and work, roast coffee, get new customers, and just do everything as best I can, figuring the money will follow if we just stay true to our core values. It's worked and we're growing as a business, but the bills always pile up. In my mind, though, they are gone, immaterial, unimportant.
I've got creditors coming after me, but there's nothing for them to get. We rent. My most valuable possessions are my wedding ring & my Droid. My brother in IT gave me the laptop I'm typing on right now. My father got the loan for the used car I drive, and I pay him back month to month. And then last night I took the final step and inadvertently cut all remaining ties to regular-world-life by somehow leaving my car unlocked, and my wallet exposed within.
I'm still not quite sure how I was so completely careless when I am usually exactly the opposite, but there it wasn't this morning when I got in my (father's) car to drive to work. I hardly ever have cash on me, but last night I did and now it's gone. I intended to use it tomorrow to pay for the sperm-freeze which is one step of our 3rd IVF attempt, but I'll have to find another couple hundred bucks to make that happen.
Thankfully, one of the things I do still have is a great family so they are going to help, but at this point I think it's more that they have me than I have them.
No license. No ATM card. No insurance card. I've never lost my wallet or had it stolen. Not once in my 37 years. I cannot believe I was so stupid to let that happen, but obviously it's not the first mistake I've ever made. Not by a longshot. And compared to what I have already lost in my life, a few hundred bucks is essentially absolutely nothing at all.
Perspective is everything, I guess.
My perspective is unlike anything I ever expected. I'm through the looking glass here. Everything is gone except the love of my wife, my friends and my family. I am finally here, all the way through, all the way emptied of objects, of possessions, of expectations, perhaps even of hope. But it's not even that I'm now hopeless, more that I am completely status quo. I am now. I am this. I am here and alive and I won't ever let that go, but all the extra and all the bullshit and all the everything I can't control it's gone gone gone and that makes me feel good.
My slow coast to this rocky bottom took long enough, but I'm glad to finally touch the bedrock and feel its cool, impenetrable heft. There's more that could be taken from me, it's true. Loved ones, my life itself, the clothes on my back, shelter, food, but losing those would destroy me altogether. The gone-ness I feel is really a slow choice I've made to only hold onto these essential elements.
In order to survive I must love and feel loved. I must eat and drink and laugh and sleep and shit and piss and cry and breathe. My heart must pump. My eyes must look forward and my feet must move me forward to whatever comes next. But money won't save me. A bank account won't protect me from the ravages of life. A flimsy piece of folded leather and an ID tucked within won't hold back the disintegrating Universe. It's gone, anyway, all of it.
I'm unlabeled, untethered, unincorporated. I lay on my back on the bedrock of the bottom and look up, far up at the distant sky and streaming clouds and it doesn't matter that I'm on top of a mountain of grief. My eyes are still open, my heart still beats, my soul still rages with anger and love and anticipation and fear, and nothing can stop Time's hold on my life and the inexorable rise of tomorrow's Sun. It'll happen even if I don't look at the clock, or at the watch I don't have.
What were some unexpected repercussions of the loss of your child? What have you let go or held onto since their death? Do you feel like you're at rock bottom? What helps get you up?