I had to scuttle several titles for this blog, which has aptly been named more than a dozen times over in the spans of a couple hours. At first I debated writing it at all due to being completely overwhelmed by the mash up of emotions flooding through my system all at once.
It’s not a tumor… I’m pretty sure it’s not a tumor…
By the grace of God I go – may you guide, protect, and show me how to live.
Over seven and a half years ago, I was told of Sam’s death. Seven and a half years ago I started the grieving process; she was a close friend and we had a certain kind of love for one another that is not easy to find.
Although on the surface we both walked distinctly different paths, there were similarities interwoven in our stories that once we got to know each other, we found that our hearts were more than similar; they were somehow fully capable of touching the other without a word.
She was my muse.
She was one of the inspirations to stand up for those who could not fend for themselves.
She was a symbol to me of femininity and the incredible strength that women possess.
She stood tall, carried a big stick, and spoke with certainty even when filled with doubt.
She had survived things that very few people can claim.
She was a survivor.
Seven Years and 6 months ago…
I was sober for seven days when I called Samantha and told her never to contact me again; my girlfriend at the time was jealous of how I spoke of her and the fact that Sam and I had been physical made her uncomfortable. Mind you, it was not just that we had shared sexual experiences, but the how in the tone of my voice when I first mentioned it, which sent the hardening shivers down Jen’s spine, causing her mind to erupt in uncontrollable
jealousy.
I was mean and I was cold; and I never had the chance to tell Sam how sorry or how wrong I was.
Around 21 days sober, Sam’s sister called and informed me that Sam had died.
The details were murky but then again, most things about Sam floated on the murky side of the water… her sister read me a letter that Sam had written; I will attempt to summarize what I can recall from a very hazy brain which received the information something like a life time ago…
“Dear David, I always wanted a life with you…I wished my children were your children, that we would be together and we would be so happy… I have always loved you more than I could ever say…”
I’m sorry to cut it off, but that is all I can remember of the letter with certainty and I am on the verge of breaking down one more time. While Sam’s sister read the letter, I sobbed like I had never sobbed before and lowered my head to the earth in total shame.
I felt the inside of my brain fizzle, heart boil, and the blood run scalding hot through my veins like a transfusion of snake venom had taken place. Then it built into climax of pressure and felt like I was going to explode; the image of people finding my parts scattered all over my apartment fluttered through my breaking mind… except my heart; I knew my heart would survive and that it would have to live without her…somehow.
There was no doubt even though I prayed for mercy and a quick death.
The next day I told Jen that Sam had passed away… her response was, “Who’s Sam?”
I cringed at the instant thought and image of smacking her in the head with a large heavy object and then as fast as the image appeared, I went cold and grew certain, “We’re fucking done…” I said, and I walked away…
Through the years I held Sam captive in my mind and heart like a prisoner; she molded characters in my books, inspired an entire novel while I stopped for a moment, weeping, at a stop light… I needed her voice in my head, her face in my dreams, and needed the energy only she could give.
It helped me grieve. She walked with me through the five stages until three years later I reached full acceptance. And in that time, she also kept me sober like an angel.
And now this…
Without rhyme or reason, I changed my work out schedule, which put me leaving the gym at the time I would have just started working out normally.
I rounded the corner of the Sears building entering the open lot where my truck was parked… my heart stopped beating, my eyes narrowed, and my brain completely seized…
Sam stood right in front of me; she looked like flesh and blood, her enormous broad surprised smile, crinkled her nose the way it used to in real life… and then she hugged me and held me tight and I knew she was actually there.
She started to cry while we held each other. I wanted to cry, but could not, there was ice water in my veins.
She started talking but it sounded like staccato gun fire coming from the far end of a long tunnel.
I kept repeating, “I, thought you were dead…”
It took her a while to hear my words as well; I’m not sure if her ears felt the thump of her heart beat like mine did, as the walls throbbed closer and closer together cutting off the required ingredients to make sound reverberate.
Seconds rolled by that felt like hours and I was completely lost in the hazy smoke which wafted up all around my insides like insulation.
I vaguely felt her hugging me and believed that I was hugging her back, “your sister told me you were dead…” I said.
“I’m not surprised,” was her reply… and then she went into a brief, garbled attempt at an explanation which made no sense to me because I only heard every fourth or fifth word that came out of her mouth. I watched her lips moving and studied the creases in her face as she spoke, remembering where a good portion of them came from…
Remembering the intense study of them on long, languid afternoons…
Stunned, we exchanged information in order to catch up at some point… we were both in shock and she complained about not being able to breathe so I walked away, unsure as to whether it had actually happened.
I went back into the gym and approached the girl at the counter, “Excuse me?”
She smiled and looked at me strangely while I stumbled into my skull and reached for words, “Was I here for about two hours?”
She laughed.
“No, I mean it… I need to know if I was working out here just now… if I just left a few minutes ago,”I said. My face felt pale and I could sense my eyes sinking into my skull.
She stopped laughing, sensing that there was something quite maniacal in the undertone of my soft voice; she felt my panic and could see the pale shell of a person she usually smiled at and received a wide smile in return from, “Ahhhh,”she looked around briefly, “yes David, you just left like a few minutes ago…”
I tried to smile, but could not muster the strength, “Uhhhhh, yes, thank you,” I stammered, recognizing she could not know how badly I needed to know whether or not I was working out.
I needed to know whether I had been drinking and or using drugs again… needed to know whether I had fallen into a blackout, suffered through a hallucination for the last fifteen or so minutes while I hugged a concrete pillar in the parking lot… or worse yet, some stranger who didn’t have the heart to tell me to stop.
I slowly climbed the stairs, pulling myself up one at a time like an old, broken man holding the railings until I reached the main floor. Shaking my head, I was relieved I had not relapsed in a blackout of some kind; relief slowly faded to recognition of what had actually happened…
I just saw, hugged, and spoke with a dead person…
The rest of that day is a write off; I vaguely remember participating with others to some extent, but all I saw was a grey haze in front of my eyes shielding me from what was coming. The following day was a write off as well, but for the coffee Sam and I had together…
The explanation is one of privacy; not for my sake, but for hers… suffice to say that she had nothing to do with me believing her dead and though her sister was a sick twisted individual for telling me what she had; I got the sense that it was for Sam’s protection.
The story I heard sounded like bad fiction, but no one made that kind of stuff up; it was too brutal and far too surreal to be phony. It was true life drama and human suffering like few others could describe or survive… as repeatedly as she had survived such things.
The impending grey flooded from my toes to the tip of my head; I felt as though I was floating…
What it reminds me of is the picture of the footprints in the sand… when God picked me up and carried me because I lacked the strength to walk any further.
There was no doubt He was doing the leg work at this point.
I am sure he has not put me down yet to be honest.
I drove to Canmore, Alberta in the Rocky Mountains and halfway there, the full breakdown hit me. I sobbed and sobbed and the only words I can recall in my head with any frequency are these, “I don’t understand, I trust you God but I don’t understand…my heart feels as though it is breaking all over again…I don’t understand…”
This terrible scene lasted nearly twenty minutes in which I prayed repeatedly for God to be the power, strength, courage, and the light I needed…and slowly, very gradually amidst the tears, the nerves settled and a soft voice inside my head said, “I know I don’t need to understand everything right now, thank you for being with me always God…show me the next right thing You would have me do…I don’t understand, but that’s ok…”
The words, “My heart is breaking again” repeated for the remainder of the drive.
There have been a few times when this heart felt broken, but there was only one time when I felt so acutely my heart tearing itself apart from the inside out and it was when I listened to Sam’s sister read that letter after being told she had died.
And then I sobbed some more…and now, my eyes burn from the tears because I feel God with every single cell in my body and know without question He has a plan despite my ignorance of it and the pain which threatens too but does not suffocate me.
I’ve run out of fancy ideas for a closing prayer so I will leave you all with the one I learned early in recovery; one that never failed to lighten my heart and fill me with gratitude:
Thank you God, Amen.
David W. Lewry
It’s not a tumor… I’m pretty sure it’s not a tumor…
By the grace of God I go – may you guide, protect, and show me how to live.
Over seven and a half years ago, I was told of Sam’s death. Seven and a half years ago I started the grieving process; she was a close friend and we had a certain kind of love for one another that is not easy to find.
Although on the surface we both walked distinctly different paths, there were similarities interwoven in our stories that once we got to know each other, we found that our hearts were more than similar; they were somehow fully capable of touching the other without a word.
She was my muse.
She was one of the inspirations to stand up for those who could not fend for themselves.
She was a symbol to me of femininity and the incredible strength that women possess.
She stood tall, carried a big stick, and spoke with certainty even when filled with doubt.
She had survived things that very few people can claim.
She was a survivor.
Seven Years and 6 months ago…
I was sober for seven days when I called Samantha and told her never to contact me again; my girlfriend at the time was jealous of how I spoke of her and the fact that Sam and I had been physical made her uncomfortable. Mind you, it was not just that we had shared sexual experiences, but the how in the tone of my voice when I first mentioned it, which sent the hardening shivers down Jen’s spine, causing her mind to erupt in uncontrollable
jealousy.
I was mean and I was cold; and I never had the chance to tell Sam how sorry or how wrong I was.
Around 21 days sober, Sam’s sister called and informed me that Sam had died.
The details were murky but then again, most things about Sam floated on the murky side of the water… her sister read me a letter that Sam had written; I will attempt to summarize what I can recall from a very hazy brain which received the information something like a life time ago…
“Dear David, I always wanted a life with you…I wished my children were your children, that we would be together and we would be so happy… I have always loved you more than I could ever say…”
I’m sorry to cut it off, but that is all I can remember of the letter with certainty and I am on the verge of breaking down one more time. While Sam’s sister read the letter, I sobbed like I had never sobbed before and lowered my head to the earth in total shame.
I felt the inside of my brain fizzle, heart boil, and the blood run scalding hot through my veins like a transfusion of snake venom had taken place. Then it built into climax of pressure and felt like I was going to explode; the image of people finding my parts scattered all over my apartment fluttered through my breaking mind… except my heart; I knew my heart would survive and that it would have to live without her…somehow.
There was no doubt even though I prayed for mercy and a quick death.
The next day I told Jen that Sam had passed away… her response was, “Who’s Sam?”
I cringed at the instant thought and image of smacking her in the head with a large heavy object and then as fast as the image appeared, I went cold and grew certain, “We’re fucking done…” I said, and I walked away…
Through the years I held Sam captive in my mind and heart like a prisoner; she molded characters in my books, inspired an entire novel while I stopped for a moment, weeping, at a stop light… I needed her voice in my head, her face in my dreams, and needed the energy only she could give.
It helped me grieve. She walked with me through the five stages until three years later I reached full acceptance. And in that time, she also kept me sober like an angel.
And now this…
Without rhyme or reason, I changed my work out schedule, which put me leaving the gym at the time I would have just started working out normally.
I rounded the corner of the Sears building entering the open lot where my truck was parked… my heart stopped beating, my eyes narrowed, and my brain completely seized…
Sam stood right in front of me; she looked like flesh and blood, her enormous broad surprised smile, crinkled her nose the way it used to in real life… and then she hugged me and held me tight and I knew she was actually there.
She started to cry while we held each other. I wanted to cry, but could not, there was ice water in my veins.
She started talking but it sounded like staccato gun fire coming from the far end of a long tunnel.
I kept repeating, “I, thought you were dead…”
It took her a while to hear my words as well; I’m not sure if her ears felt the thump of her heart beat like mine did, as the walls throbbed closer and closer together cutting off the required ingredients to make sound reverberate.
Seconds rolled by that felt like hours and I was completely lost in the hazy smoke which wafted up all around my insides like insulation.
I vaguely felt her hugging me and believed that I was hugging her back, “your sister told me you were dead…” I said.
“I’m not surprised,” was her reply… and then she went into a brief, garbled attempt at an explanation which made no sense to me because I only heard every fourth or fifth word that came out of her mouth. I watched her lips moving and studied the creases in her face as she spoke, remembering where a good portion of them came from…
Remembering the intense study of them on long, languid afternoons…
Stunned, we exchanged information in order to catch up at some point… we were both in shock and she complained about not being able to breathe so I walked away, unsure as to whether it had actually happened.
I went back into the gym and approached the girl at the counter, “Excuse me?”
She smiled and looked at me strangely while I stumbled into my skull and reached for words, “Was I here for about two hours?”
She laughed.
“No, I mean it… I need to know if I was working out here just now… if I just left a few minutes ago,”I said. My face felt pale and I could sense my eyes sinking into my skull.
She stopped laughing, sensing that there was something quite maniacal in the undertone of my soft voice; she felt my panic and could see the pale shell of a person she usually smiled at and received a wide smile in return from, “Ahhhh,”she looked around briefly, “yes David, you just left like a few minutes ago…”
I tried to smile, but could not muster the strength, “Uhhhhh, yes, thank you,” I stammered, recognizing she could not know how badly I needed to know whether or not I was working out.
I needed to know whether I had been drinking and or using drugs again… needed to know whether I had fallen into a blackout, suffered through a hallucination for the last fifteen or so minutes while I hugged a concrete pillar in the parking lot… or worse yet, some stranger who didn’t have the heart to tell me to stop.
I slowly climbed the stairs, pulling myself up one at a time like an old, broken man holding the railings until I reached the main floor. Shaking my head, I was relieved I had not relapsed in a blackout of some kind; relief slowly faded to recognition of what had actually happened…
I just saw, hugged, and spoke with a dead person…
The rest of that day is a write off; I vaguely remember participating with others to some extent, but all I saw was a grey haze in front of my eyes shielding me from what was coming. The following day was a write off as well, but for the coffee Sam and I had together…
The explanation is one of privacy; not for my sake, but for hers… suffice to say that she had nothing to do with me believing her dead and though her sister was a sick twisted individual for telling me what she had; I got the sense that it was for Sam’s protection.
The story I heard sounded like bad fiction, but no one made that kind of stuff up; it was too brutal and far too surreal to be phony. It was true life drama and human suffering like few others could describe or survive… as repeatedly as she had survived such things.
The impending grey flooded from my toes to the tip of my head; I felt as though I was floating…
What it reminds me of is the picture of the footprints in the sand… when God picked me up and carried me because I lacked the strength to walk any further.
There was no doubt He was doing the leg work at this point.
I am sure he has not put me down yet to be honest.
I drove to Canmore, Alberta in the Rocky Mountains and halfway there, the full breakdown hit me. I sobbed and sobbed and the only words I can recall in my head with any frequency are these, “I don’t understand, I trust you God but I don’t understand…my heart feels as though it is breaking all over again…I don’t understand…”
This terrible scene lasted nearly twenty minutes in which I prayed repeatedly for God to be the power, strength, courage, and the light I needed…and slowly, very gradually amidst the tears, the nerves settled and a soft voice inside my head said, “I know I don’t need to understand everything right now, thank you for being with me always God…show me the next right thing You would have me do…I don’t understand, but that’s ok…”
The words, “My heart is breaking again” repeated for the remainder of the drive.
There have been a few times when this heart felt broken, but there was only one time when I felt so acutely my heart tearing itself apart from the inside out and it was when I listened to Sam’s sister read that letter after being told she had died.
And then I sobbed some more…and now, my eyes burn from the tears because I feel God with every single cell in my body and know without question He has a plan despite my ignorance of it and the pain which threatens too but does not suffocate me.
I’ve run out of fancy ideas for a closing prayer so I will leave you all with the one I learned early in recovery; one that never failed to lighten my heart and fill me with gratitude:
Thank you God, Amen.
David W. Lewry