The Dirt & The Dark

“I made it through the rain
I kept my world protected
I made it thought the rain
I kept my point of view
I made it through the rain
And found myself respected
By the others who
Got rained on too”

—Barry Manilow

On a lonely stretch of road on the way to Massachusetts there is an abandon piece of land. You know the kind covered in gravel and remnants of snowplows gone by. Each day last fall I noticed an old man on his knees working there. I noticed, but didn’t think much of it beyond his diligence. I thought maybe he was fixing drainage or something as mundane as that piece of land seemed to warrant or be capable of. All I knew is rain or shine he was on a knee board digging in the cold mud.

This is not about that man or the lonely piece of road, it is about the mud. Sometimes we are just deep in it. When I was young I was afraid of quicksand. Why I have no idea, there was absolutely none near our home in upstate New York. But it seemed a horrible way to go and I was always cautious of my steps because you never know when you were the one sinking in the sand with no help on the way. Or worse yet, there was someone standing on the side just watching, in horror or glee depending on the story my mind was writing that day. Either way, Barry Manilow seemed to come along and save me……again, why I have no idea.

That feels a bit like life over the last year. We have been in the mud. If you poke around the blog at all you will notice some really inappropriate comments. In the past I have hit delete/report but this time, as I woke to 40 of them on 14 different posts I have decided to leave them up. This person has been seeking an audience for a year. So I am giving them one.  No, by the way it is not written by the person listed. The writer hides behind names like “anonymous girl” or uses another actual persons name. Read the content or don’t. My warning to you is it is not for the faint of heart. Most of all, don’t click on anything. It’s cold, it’s sloppy, it’s mud. The problem is, it is also suffocating. Neighbors, friends, lovers, work colleagues, strangers and more have all received them over the last year. Hundreds of them. I think because we are coming to the first anniversary of our cyber meeting I want begin the conversation about the pain we sometimes live in.

As a people pleaser and non confrontational person by nature my first instinct is to hide. Delete the post and move on, maybe it will stop. Maybe the writer has a life to get back to and needed to voice an unsolicited opinion. Fine, fair, but that is not the case. This has taken time and research. I applaud the commitment. Kind of like the old man on the side of the road.

The honest impact, and I can hear the happy dance as they slot this as another win, is that it had an enormous fallout inside me. Without thought or context they have reached into parts of the past that are not safe. They have twisted and contorted realities and alarmed others. My concern has always first been for the others. Maybe if I disappear just a little, it will stop and ‘so and so” won’t be bothered with this crap any more. Maybe they won’t send these to the church my son is pastor of or family members bent toward violence. Maybe a distant friend won’t fear an impact on their own business. Maybe if I just disappear a little bit more. Maybe……… if I just disappear………………Now we are in the cold mud. I am going to own that I walked to the edge of our life and looked over and wondered………. I was dark.  I am so grateful for the many hands that quickly came alongside and held me.

But like the quicksand, it is a story half real and half written in mind. The reality is there has been so much love. I lean into that now.

The posts, web submissions and anonymous emails they send off other peoples email addresses are a series of cut and pastes. Most is far from true and salacious. Usually they just change the header or opening paragraph and cut and paste the rest. It’s mean, there is no doubt. It is also getting boring. I can stand, now that I have backed away from the edge, and say that. Like all grief we cycle through loss, fear of sharing intimate parts of us, pain at loss of privacy, hurt at lies, ideas of self just to name a few. But now I am not grieving, I am standing on that gravel. I have footing. It’s time and I know what the man was really doing on the side of the road.