11 January 2016

Goodnight, Ziggy Stardust

David Bowie makes me think of Peter.
Disclaimer: My knowledge of Bowie is unfortunately limited. I saw Labyrinth once, when I was about 20. The only song I can name is Under Pressure. 
Bowie was one of the 80s icons Peter emulated in fabulousness. The blatant disregard for gender roles. The habit of saying only the right thing at the right time. The hair.

Hearing news of David Bowie's passing evoked memories of Nelson Mandela, of Maya Angelou, and of Peter himself. Peter would have been the one to tell me, simply and with urgency. He would expand my knowledge by sending me exactly the right link to the perfect video that would fill me with understanding of Bowie's cultural and personal significance.

All grief is the same grief. One loss feels the same as another loss, on a primal level, even though each experience of grieving is unique. Peter is David Bowie is Freddie Mercury is Nelson Mandela is my grandmother is the breeze and the waves and the stars. Once you have experienced grief, it never leaves you. It becomes part of your everyday life. You learn to live with it, and it fades into the background, until you experience another loss. All the loss feelings are connected, and one experience evokes memories of another and the feelings deepen in intensity. And you grow in your ability to manage it and to live with this part of your life. Our losses shape us. Grief teaches us. The ways we handle grief mark how we've grown.

She texted me, "If there's anyone who can make you think there's someplace to go after, it's him. I imagine there's a raucous concert going on right now." I replied, "David and Freddie are rocking Under Pressure in non-linear time. Peter is headbanging in his soft human way." "And that grin."

Let's all sing our hearts out from the midpoint of gender and the absolute certainty of our worth, not caring what they think of us because we care too deeply about our own Truth. Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love...

08 January 2016

white rocks and yellow diamonds

I left rocks at the place we got married. There were two white ones that were supposed to fit together somehow. I threw those off the overlook. Then I took three flatter grey ones and stacked them on the stone wall. Proceed with caution.

I went back to the bar for the first night since the police came, on an exploratory mission for my girlfriend with a friend in town until the morning. I stepped outside for a smoke alone and was enjoying the relative quiet when Rihanna filled my head with yellow diamonds. I froze.

We found love in a hopeless place.

We used to sing it about Pittsburgh.

We left this city and moved to another one where we were completely isolated from anyone we knew. We started a new life together and became entirely dependent on each other. Then we came back. Thank goodness. This place holds my hope and my home-feeling.

yellow diamonds in the light
and we're standing side by side
as your shadow crosses mine
what it takes to come alive
it's the way i'm feeling i just can't deny
but i've gotta let it go....

I vividly flashed back to a night on the dance floor, strobe lights animating his face. Smiling that unabashed, charismatic smile of his at me. With me. He was always good at dancing with me...or always until almost the very end.

We were good, once.

Were we good, ever?

I only almost cried.