Nine Lives

I used to write letters late at night when I couldn't sleep, my insomnia born of feelings that were too big to fit inside the darkness of dreams.  I wrote to a number of friends and loved ones about different things.  Worries I had, things that reminded me of them -- I shared my hopes and dreams for their futures and mine.  I kept a book of stamps beside my lamp, and, more often than not, I'd send the letters the next morning.  Sometimes, though, I'd re-read them, find them to be too personally revealing, and hide them in the spines of my journals: I thought of these as letters to myself.  It's been a long time since I've written a letter like that, something to comfort myself when sleep is evasive; lately, I watch movies.

So, it was past my bedtime and I was flipping through the channels a couple of weeks ago, trying to find a good late-night film.  I settled on something called Nine Lives (directed by Rodrigo Garcia and starring, among others bright stars, Robin Wright Penn, Amy Brenneman, Sissy Spacek, Dakota Fanning and Glenn Close).  The film, composed of nine Steadicam, single-take shots, shares vignettes looking at singular events in the lives of nine very different women, how they manage their love, and (because of love) how they cope with their ultimate losses.

The film builds to a final scene in which we see Glenn Close and Dakota Fanning playing characters who walk through rows of well-groomed headstones.  Close is carrying a blanket and picnic basket while Fanning skips around.  Fanning's character asks, "Who waters the lawn here?"  Close answers: "There are sprinklers on timers."  "So nobody sees it, because they're all on timers and everybody's dead," comes Fanning's matter-of-fact reply.  You watch these two for about 8 minutes, and as they discuss the headstones and climb trees, it suddenly blossoms around you -- the knowledge that Close is at Fanning's grave.  She's visiting her daughter's grave, and this is all a tragic, poignant daydream.  The film ends, as Close quietly, peacefully, sadly rests her head in Fanning's lap.  "I'm tired, honey," she says, and that's all.

I wept.  Oh, how I wept.  For at least 45 minutes.  Love is loss, I kept thinking.  When I couldn't quit crying, I called Corey.  At 1:45 AM.  Dear friend that he is, he picked up the phone, "Nic, are you ok?"  He sat silently while I continued to cry, asking him if life ever stopped hurting,if we ever would find a place that felt safe and home.  "That's a good question," he pragmatically, yet sensitively answered.  And though he meant it to be, it wasn't enough to comfort me.  I calmed to say goodnight, close my phone and pull enough together to get up and walk into my room, where I emptied myself into my bed.

I pulled the nearest notepad and began writing the first late-night letter I've written in months.

It's 2:21 AM and I've honestly been considering walking up the stairs, filling a glass with cold water and drinking it to wet the dry ache in my throat and then going to your room to ask if I may sleep in your bed until I feel better like I did when I was a little boy.

Without meaning to, I had begun writing to my parents, musing about how they could always give me comfort.

I so want to come upstairs and feel safe because you'll tell me you love me and that life stops hurting sometimes.  You used to rub the ache out of my legs, and now I think I need you to massage it out of my heart.  But I'm not a little boy anymore -- I'm a young man, and I need to trust the truth that I can take care of myself.  Trust reveals Truth, right?

I haven't felt such a drive to seek out physical comfort in many years.  Loneliness and displacement had never taken me in their arms so powerfully.  Alarmingly so, actually.  You have to pull yourself together, Nic.  No one can give you the comfort you think you need, I told myself.  I finished composing the letter (which I never gave them), and somehow found an empty, hollow sleep.

I've thought a lot about lessons I learned that night.  Here are a few:


Love will Eventually Couple with Loss.

Loss is an inevitable price we pay in order to love some place, some thing, someone in the fullest way.   We leave home.  We lose track of childhood friends.  We grapple with the deaths of those we love.  Loss is hell, but once you realize it's a part of the deal, it makes Love all the more worthwhile and sweet. 

The Sun Always Rises.
I woke up the next morning, yes, with a bit of a night-of-depression hangover, but I woke up!   The sun was shining, my shower was lovely, and I could choose to see the bright lights in my life -- I could choose to focus on goodness. 

Part of Being an Adult is Taking Responsibility and Taking Care.
I so wanted my parents to fill their old role for me that night -- PROTECT ME!!!  But it just wasn't a possibility at 2 AM.  I found the whatwithal within myself to stop wallowing in self-pity that night, and I took care of taking care of myself.  I'm not writing this clearly, but I found I have what I need when no one else can give it to me. 

Trust that Your Friends will Be There when You Need Them.
I didn't worry much over calling Corey at the witching hour.  Usually, gearing up for a late-late night phonecall takes me about 20 minutes -- They're probably sleeping.  I don't want to wake them.  It's nothing, and I can talk to the tomorrow, etc.  But I called him as soon as the thought entered my mind.  He picked up after two rings.  Corey was there when I needed him, and I know he always will be.  I know I have so many other friends who would come to my aid as quickly as I would go to theirs. 

Cats May have Nine Lives, but We've Only Got One.
Seek truth.  Gain wisdom.  Practice tolerance and and mete out grace.  You've been given only one go at this thing called living, so don't fuck it up.


I never want to feel so lonely again, but these kinds of experiences are the beams and supports which build and harbor the homes of our lives, if we choose to learn the lessons they teach.

Another character in Nine Lives and her estranged sister sing this song to keep time as they clap and clasp their hands together, searching each other's eyes for the love they used to share.  I think every word of it is true.

Row by row, I'm gonna make this garden grow.
All it takes is a rake and a hoe,
and a piece of fertile ground.
Pulling weeds, pickin' stones,
we are made from dreams and bones.
I need a place to call my home,
when rain comes tumblin' down.

Go well, my darlings.