January 13, 2009

10:55 p.m.

How Much Info Is Too Much?

I am filled, filled with sadness tonight. Sadness and intestinal distress. It was a lovely visit from Sig, full of laughing and much excited talk of things metaphysical. Eventually, of course, though, I had to ask him about Will, and I was actually quite interested to hear that last year Will did a bike ride from Cleveland to Boston to raise awareness about organ donation. He'd had his heart for four years at that point. There was even a website. I also asked his opinion, though he wasn't in a position to have one, of whether Will might be open to a conversation with me. I don't want to interfere in his life, I said, and I surely don't want to be rejected asking for an audience, BUT, there is still something unclosed about it all for me and I wonder if he'd be open to talkng about it, or just talking, sometime. Sig said he just didn't know. I'm not sure if he didn't know because he didn't know, or if he "didn't know" because he's sparing my feelings in some way. Anyway that was about the time he had to go; we'd been eating and talking and laughing for a few hours and the weather was looking a little unfavorable.

So I did some things, had a nice phone call from my friend Red in Austin, remade the bed with fresh sheets. I taped a piece of paper outside my bedroom door that said "GRIEVING THIS," and listed all the griefs. Then I put one on the wall at the head of my bed that said, "LOVING THIS," and listed all the things that heal and connect me. Then after a while I remembered the website about the bike ride, and I went to it and read the whole thing.

There were photos of Will. A blog by Will, of the ride (which he invented, with a very clever name). Stories of Will visiting patients in hospitals along the route who are waiting for organs. Even a news video clip from Buffalo, of Will. All I ever wanted to know about Will, in fact. There were even a couple of pictures of his wife. It was satisfying but saddening, too. In one moment I felt such a profound sadness, just let it wash through me and be there for a little bit. I still don't know if a conversation can heal any of the cold red anger I felt years ago, or the bereft loneliness, or the feeling of betrayal. Or maybe it's just that I want to soften around that last message I left. Not that I can undo any of the psychic curses (or, let's face it, the actual spoken ones) I flung, but it just doesn't feel right that that's the last page of the story. Is he willing to cooperate with me on a little healing experiment?

As I am as yet unwilling to try to contact him, I may never know. Anyway I resolved not to bring it up with Sig any more. The request has gone out into the Universe. No sense wasting any more postage.

(I hope I haven't made this vow before already. That would not only be lame, but perimenopausally forgetful.)

And every night the same bloating and distress inside. Worse tonight than usual. I feel like I've swallowed a bicycle.