dishing it out.

Oh, my sweet, loyal readers. If you had any idea what my world has been like for the past 3 months, you would be so, so proud of me that I'm here, functioning, writing.

I want so very much to dish it all out here, in this one single post, but I feel as though I must take it in small clumps, somewhat ambiguously, of course, so as to protect not only myself but those involved as well.

Let's just put it this way: Life has a funny way of kicking you in the gut, the face, and the arse, all at once. And then, without warning, it turns around and says, "Just kidding!"

(my beautiful church--St. Paul's Cathedral, Pittsburgh, PA)

Do you know that I went to church every single day except Saturdays, for six weeks, and knelt before the Blessed Sacrament (that's the Eucharist, for you non-Catholic lovelies out there), on cold marble, my knees aching and burning from the discomfort, and prayed that my heart would heal from the pain and trauma it had recently endured?

Yup. I did.

I was all, "Hey, Jesus? Um, things are, like, really bad right now. Seriously. 'Member that time you brought the most wonderful man into my life and things were, like, really good and pure and full of love for four whole years? And then, out of nowhere, that man did and said some stuff that was really hurtful--all in the name of you--and, um, left? And it was all completely out of character for him? And it didn't make any sense because there weren't any signs leading up to it? And you let him leave? What the hecks was that all about? Because I'm, like, reallly, really hurtin' here. Like, sorta wantin' to die. Yeah. I know. That's pretty serious stuff to say to you, isn't it? Well, it's the truth. And I'm all about sayin' the truth to you, because, well, you're you and all. So, um, maybe you could help me out please? Because I really don't know what else to do or who else to turn to.

"Do you want me to let him go? Is that what this is all about? If it is, then I'm askin' you to help me let him go. Is he not the person you've picked out for me? Because I sure thought he was. Like, for reals. I mean, you're all mysterious and stuff in your ways, so I'm not sayin' I understand what you're doin' and all, but still. What is all of this about? I'm havin' a hard time believin' that something you'd want would cause this much pain. Because really. I am not okay. I really am not okay. And I don't know how I'll ever be okay after this."

And that was what I prayed every day for six weeks. On the cold, hard, white marble of St. Paul's Cathedral. Right in front of the Blessed Sacrament. Jesus, right there in front of me, listening and weeping in unison with my pain.

Do you know that on one occasion, I was sobbing so loudly that it echoed through the entire cathedral? And the woman praying in the first pew stepped out into the aisle, walked up to railing where I was slumped, and knelt down beside me. She said, "What can I do for you, sweetie?" Between my heaving sobs, I replied, "Nothing." And she put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Well, you're in the right place." And then she went back to her pew, where I'm almost certain she prayed for me.

I was in the right place. As much as I hurt, as much as I felt betrayed and abandoned and confused, I knew I was in the right place. And I kept going to that place. Every day except Saturdays. And I knelt on the cold, white marble. And I prayed. Sincerely, deeply.

And then he came back. The love of my life came back.

There's a lot to work out, a lot to figure out. But love is a decision, not just a feeling. And sometimes, even when it hurts, you decide to see what will happen. You decide to love.

yeah, i'm an actress.

Here's the commercial I shot back in August for First Niagra Bank. I'm the girl in the speedboat. Yup. That's me.

one foot in the water.

I've always been afraid of drowning. I'm scared to death of large bodies of water. Did you know that? I am. Having the water pull me under, sucking me down towards a dark and airless tomb. Or something coming up from the bottom, grabbing me, devouring me.

I can swim, yes. Quite well. But sometimes there are forces that you can't evade, no matter how well you can swim. Treading water still requires energy, and sometimes that energy gives out. Gets used up. Goes away.

But sometimes that energy comes back. And you are able to tread again. Or you decide you'll kick whatever it is that comes up from below. You'll kick and kick and kick and even scream until you are the victorious one.

I'm thinking about putting one foot in the water. It's scary as hell, and I don't know what's going to happen, but I feel as though I should dab my toe into the waters and hope that they don't pull me under. I'm hoping instead that the waters will give me life.

I think I'm going to start writing here again.

now what?

What do you do when you lose the love of your life?

I don't know what to do.

I continue in a haze of grief each day. Disbelief, shock, complete sadness.

Empty. Hurt. A black hole in the center of my chest.

I don't know what to do.

how?

I do not know how I will survive this loss.

Somehow, I am managing to get out of bed, to bathe, to eat, to get to work.

But it is all in a haze of shock and utter grief.

I do not know how I will survive this loss.

But I must. I think of those who lost loved ones on 9/11. I've been thinking about that all day today. What right do I have to feel so paralyzed and grief-stricken, when my loved one is still alive?

But he is gone. And that is still a loss.

And so I do not know how I will survive it.

goodbye. for now.

Hello, all.

I am not going to be posting here any longer. At least for quite some time. Thank you for your loyal readership, your kind comments, and your interest in my life.

I will be gathering up some of my posts for my own personal records, but in the future I think I will be deleting this blog.

I wish you all the best.

With love from Pittsburgh,
Laura

UPDATE: (8/28/09) I have deleted most of the posts from this blog (there were almost 200) and have kept only my few favorites. I will return to this blog someday, but I don't know when. I have experienced a tremendous loss in my life, and those of you familiar with me and my blog will be able to see what's missing. For those of you who are not, just know that the person I love most in the world hurt me deeply and left my life. I ache. I weep. I feel a hole. But someday, with God's grace, I'll be whole again. And I'll return here, to write anew.

for the love of jaysus.

I consider myself to be a pretty good driver. Careful, polite, law-abiding. I also consider myself to be one bad-ass parallel parker. If you can't parallel park, don't live in Pittsburgh. Regular parking space {and parking garages} are hard to come by if not completely and ridiculously expensive. And the part of the city I live in requires you to parallel park nearly everywhere. I drive a compact car, and let me just say, it's a dream to parallel park. I can fit into the tiniest of spaces without batting an eyelash.

So, when I see people driving like a) idiots, ii) jerks, or 3) 5 year-olds, I tend to lose the ability to bite my tongue, and, instead, curse their very existence. {Okay, well, I don't really curse their very existence, because that would be rude, but I sure do say some words that even Andrew Dice Clay might blush at. Okay, I don't actually say them, but I sure do think them. Really loudly.}

I just think that one should drive gracefully and with courtesy. Is that too much to ask?

Oh, wait. That's right. One should also drive SAFELY. Which, apparently, the woman who parked behind me at church on Sunday neglected to take into consideration.

Yesterday, I got my fine arse out of bed around 8:30 a.m. and decided I was going to go to Mass at 10 a.m. It was sunny out, I felt rather rested {so very odd for me}, and I figured it'd be great to go to Mass, get my For the Love of Jaysus time in for the week, and then run some errands and be home by 1 p.m. at the latest.

I left my house around 9:40 a.m., despite the fact that my church is a 5-minute drive away. Because one must get to church early if one wants a parking spot nearby.

I pulled up in front of the church, right on Fifth Avenue, and parallel parked in what I refer to as Rock Star Parking. I had plenty of time to spare, so I sat in my car for a few minutes and applied lip gloss and turned off my cell phone. Thank goodness I applied my lip gloss first, as I'm sure it would have ended up all over my face had I waited just a moment longer, because in my rear view mirror there suddenly appeared a tan Hyundai barreling towards the bumper of my little blue Chevy. I braced for the impact, only to see the Hyundai fly up on the curb behind me. About four feet onto it.

Where it could have killed someone.

I may or may not have said several swear words {yes, right there in front of the Lord's house} as I swallowed my heart which had frantically made its way into my throat seconds before. I glanced in the rear view mirror to identify the individual who decided to pull the aforementioned Indy 500 maneuver, but could only make out that it was a woman wearing large sunglasses. {Which clearly hadn't worked if it was, in fact, the sun which caused her to make such an inappropriate parking decision.} I noticed, too, that there was a gentleman in the passenger's seat. For the next few minutes, the man seemed to be instructing the woman on how to move the car from the sidewalk to the street. She seemed to be struggling with the task. I was still trying not to throw up.

After several minutes, she eventually got the car off the sidewalk and parked somewhat normally on the street. When she emerged from the car, I noticed that she was a woman probably in her late 50s or early 60s. My guess is that the gentleman was her husband and that she'd never, in fact, driven before that day. They exited the vehicle and walked around to the curb side of the car, bending down to look at the front right tire.

"I expect to have a flat tire when we come out of church," she said.

You don't say.

For the love of Jaysus, some people just shouldn't drive.

with love from Pittsburgh,
Laura