seeking “spaciousness”

A poet friend told me last month that she was carving out more room in her life for writing—“spaciousness” was the term she used and it immediately resonated with me. I know most people would look at my calendar and think I have plenty of time to myself; I started March with 8 gigs and now I’m up to 10, which is my limit. Really—I mean it. I’ve got two Zoom-free days this weekend and it’s such a delicious feeling to wake without any anxiety about what’s to come. This week I have a few gigs and my citizenship test on Tuesday, but the following week is wide open and just knowing that that’s ahead of me does something to my brain. I had some sad news at the start of this week; my cousin, who struggled with severe depression for decades, took her own life. Her death has made me more assertive this week. I reached out to a friend and said what I should have said when she first made her request for my involvement in a new art project: I can’t. Instead of losing myself in some drama on Netflix, I left the TV off and just wrote all week—two poems for Laura and a few new poems for the novel-in-progress that just will not end. After trying to be patient and diplomatic I finally met with my editor and then wrote down all the issues I think we need to resolve. Not sure that actually helped, but I felt better getting it off my chest. My professor once said that suicide was the ultimate act of self-determination. When a friend from college took her own life, I didn’t see it that way; I was angry at her family and all the people in her social circle who clearly didn’t give her the help she needed. But when a middle-aged adult makes a plan to end their life…it’s different somehow. Now I feel resigned if not accepting. I’ve never experienced that kind of hopelessness but I know my cousin tried every possible therapy. She tried, she fought, and she was so brave for such a long time. I’m just glad she’s not hurting anymore. I can’t travel due to the COVID restrictions so will find other ways to mourn by myself and with my family in Canada. I found some photos of happier days and polished the silver dragonfly earrings Laura gave me years ago. I’m not sure I’ve ever worn them but I definitely wear the dragonfly scarf she gifted me. Most importantly she gave me permission to cry. As awful as the past year has been, I hadn’t been able to really break down until the day after my cousin died. I was talking to her sister on Zoom and when it was time to end the call and say goodbye, I just lost it. I didn’t want to be present when my father passed away; it didn’t feel necessary since I had already said goodbye to him in my own way. I never had a chance to say goodbye to Laura, and I imagine that’s true for so many people who have lost a loved one to COVID. So her death has also made me more sympathetic and understanding of others’ pain, and I’m thankful for that.

Right now the apartment is quiet and full of late-day light. I have a couple more poems to write for this darn book and might have enough room this weekend to actually get them done. I feel so grateful for my life and I feel fortunate that I’ve been able to manage my own mental health with the support of others. My cousin told me that she found a cache of my books among Laura’s things—gifts she hadn’t gotten around to giving. I found out yesterday that Dragons in a Bag has been selected for the 2021 Global Read Aloud and I know Laura would have been happy for me. Let your loved ones know how you feel while you can. Life can be precarious so make the most of the moments you have.