I met some wonderful people in Gyeongju tonight for dinner- two coworkers of Gareth's from the university and their wives and one's mother visiting from the U.S. I had the address of the restaurant, but didn't realize until I was pulling down the familiar narrow street behind Tumuli Park, with its ancient tombs and paved walkways, that this was the restaurant where I last saw Gareth's mom, dad, and brother, just before they left to go back to New Zealand.
I was a bit early, and I'm glad, because the tears flowed freely, and while everyone seems to accept this state lovingly, I've about had it with crying through meals, visits with friends, work days, car rides, skype calls, trips to the grocery store, bank deposits, and on and on and on. I just want to show up and be normal. One could argue what that means, but in the end, could I just not cry for a bit, please?
I was early enough to decide to take a quick stroll in the park just across the way from the restaurant. A $1 entry fee for a 15-minute quick walk in one of Gyeongju's famous sites seemed fair to me. I had been here twice before, both times with Gareth. The first time was in March of 2013, not long after he moved to Gyeongju. It was still chilly and the rounded shapes of the tombs had yet to turn the vibrant green I'd see today.
I was a bit early, and I'm glad, because the tears flowed freely, and while everyone seems to accept this state lovingly, I've about had it with crying through meals, visits with friends, work days, car rides, skype calls, trips to the grocery store, bank deposits, and on and on and on. I just want to show up and be normal. One could argue what that means, but in the end, could I just not cry for a bit, please?
I was early enough to decide to take a quick stroll in the park just across the way from the restaurant. A $1 entry fee for a 15-minute quick walk in one of Gyeongju's famous sites seemed fair to me. I had been here twice before, both times with Gareth. The first time was in March of 2013, not long after he moved to Gyeongju. It was still chilly and the rounded shapes of the tombs had yet to turn the vibrant green I'd see today.
(Gareth strolling ahead of me along the path with tombs to the left)
I stopped to take a few photos to share with Gareth's mom. It seems such a shame that his family had to experience cold Korea. Bare Korea. Korea with empty branches and biting wind and birds in hiding. I continue to document and share the magic of Korea's spring with Gareth's mom so she can see what he saw. So she can experience something different. Grass so green it makes your tummy tickle. Magpies bouncing about and outdoing one another with their calls. Flowers exploding with color on trees and bushes and in flower shop windows. I want her to see this.
(Standing outside of the main tomb.
We had just made a short video for friends back home.)
We had just made a short video for friends back home.)
I stood for a moment in the place where we took the above photo and made the above video. It made me happy to think about that day. That moment. I found myself talking to Gareth about it. "Do you remember when..." "Oh, man, you'd love to see how green it is now..." I recalled how he mentioned then, as he did often, that the "golden light" of this time of day was his favorite.
And here I found myself instinctively heading towards the spot where this photo was taken. We had set the camera up on a little wall circling a group of trees and put it on a timer. How quickly we fell into place of a sweet embrace and kiss! This was nothing that took practicing on our part. It was quite natural.
(At the park- March of 2013)
I saw a couple pass by and asked the man if he could take my photo in the same spot. I showed him the picture of me and Gareth. "Namja chingu," I said. "Boyfriend." He nodded and happily took the photo. Four, actually. All the same.
And here with my arms wrapped around myself, I could imagine the
embrace. I could feel warm lips competing with cool March winds and
winning. I could feel the wide expanse of hand across the small of my
back, passing heat through my leather jacket (the same one I was wearing
tonight) and on to my skin. I could feel the other hand cradling my
right arm. "You are mine. You are my sweetheart. You belong to me," it
would say.
(May 8, 2014)
Here are the shape of the tombs, which we joked and said looked like massive breasts behind us. And here is the tree, now full with Spring. Here are the bricks behind me, holding in the place where we stood, keeping it from spilling out over the tombs with the ancient bodies of rulers past. "We are on THIS side of the wall," I might have said. "The side of the living," I might have clarified. "And don't for a minute think about crossing it, buddy," I might have warned. You belong over here. With me. On this side.
(Gareth at the entrance to Tumuli Park in Gyeongju)
I got the "Where are you?" call and let my feet carry me in a quick trot out of the front gate and around the wall, turning two corners, until I was again at the restaurant. The food was delicious. The company was enjoyable. I felt honored to have been asked to join.
After dinner I met with "our Sara" (as Gareth's mom and I call her)- my adopted sister who I gained through Gareth's passing. From her apartment window Gareth fell and from unexpected elevator doors opening at the hospital we met. And into my heart this otherwise stranger was placed.
By 9:30 it was time to make the drive home, opting for dark and winding country roads over the rush of the highway. Here in the silence a wave felt safe to approach and fill first my chest and then my eyes. Fueled by the realization that I now live so close to where he was- how easy the drive could have been. A mid-week sleepover. Dinners when we wanted them. I imagined how familiar this particular road would have become to both of us as we made our way back and forth to each other. I was filled with longing- and not the bittersweet kind that comes with the relief of an eventual embrace. This was the longing that would not be filled.
One of the last journal entries of Gareth's was an attempt at a gratitude list when he was feeling particularly low. In between lines of being grateful for various things (theater, particular people, meeting up with a buddy, etc) he repeatedly wrote "The ache. The ache." It struck me as odd to see these words layered in between obvious attempts to focus on the good. The positive. What was right and what could feed a spirit in need.
But I get that now.
The ache.
As I see the green of the hills and enjoy the company of friends.
The ache.
And laugh at the ridiculousness that is my cute dog and the joy of a long walk outside.
The ache.
And feel grateful for the beautiful gifts of so many people in my life.
The ache...The ache...The ache.
After dinner I met with "our Sara" (as Gareth's mom and I call her)- my adopted sister who I gained through Gareth's passing. From her apartment window Gareth fell and from unexpected elevator doors opening at the hospital we met. And into my heart this otherwise stranger was placed.
By 9:30 it was time to make the drive home, opting for dark and winding country roads over the rush of the highway. Here in the silence a wave felt safe to approach and fill first my chest and then my eyes. Fueled by the realization that I now live so close to where he was- how easy the drive could have been. A mid-week sleepover. Dinners when we wanted them. I imagined how familiar this particular road would have become to both of us as we made our way back and forth to each other. I was filled with longing- and not the bittersweet kind that comes with the relief of an eventual embrace. This was the longing that would not be filled.
One of the last journal entries of Gareth's was an attempt at a gratitude list when he was feeling particularly low. In between lines of being grateful for various things (theater, particular people, meeting up with a buddy, etc) he repeatedly wrote "The ache. The ache." It struck me as odd to see these words layered in between obvious attempts to focus on the good. The positive. What was right and what could feed a spirit in need.
But I get that now.
The ache.
As I see the green of the hills and enjoy the company of friends.
The ache.
And laugh at the ridiculousness that is my cute dog and the joy of a long walk outside.
The ache.
And feel grateful for the beautiful gifts of so many people in my life.
The ache...The ache...The ache.
The ache. The ache. It is fitting that you speak of waves of grief. In the beginning, I was flooded with grief. Now it comes in waves. I hear as we move through grief in time it becomes more subtle. Nothing subtle about it. The ache. The ache.
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