Reaching Out

"There were once dying galaxies and crumbling moons under my skin, but you touched me and brought my universe back to life." D. Antoinette Foy

The last 24hours have been like stars flickering in the night sky, burning bright for someone, somewhere to look up and gain a glimmer of hope, only to extinguish in flames... lost forever.

A few years ago, and while blogging I took my life and started to strip out the people who constantly reached out, sought my help, and yet were blinkered at times when I needed a rock.  I've done well to keep that balance since.  Cutting and slicing with ease those who showed similar traits so not to make the same mistake.  

Last night I found myself in a situation where there was an outstretched hand, it was his.  He isn't the same, he has burnt and cut me deeper than most, but he has also healed me with such gentle touches that always, when he is there, I feel stronger, I feel braver.  He reminds me so much of someone I once lost.  His heart is kind, his head analysing.  While I find I'm on the outer limit of such thoughts, no longer let into their secrets, I know, I KNOW if I held out my hand, he would somehow be there to hold it.  If I could speak the words, he would find a way.  The boy who read me to sleep.  The guy who stole my heart.  The man who couldn't let me know I was enough.  He has been breaking, crumbling silently and last night he reached... I tried to be there.  I had no idea how hard that would be from a distance.

A couple of hours on the phone, a few texts, and a genuine wish a car could get me to where I know I needed to go.  To hold out my hand.  Just a hand.  No agenda, no misconstrued feelings.  Just a girl standing in front of a boy letting him know he wasn't alone.  That he was never going to be alone again, that all he had to do was keep reaching and regardless of what anyone else thought or said, could know that I would be there giving him all the strength he needed to make it through. 

I don't really know where I go from here.  I floated an idea that he take a break from his current daily routine, that I could help him do that, but that he would have to do the unthinkable first, take a giant leap of faith knowing that no matter how hard he falls in doing so, the pieces when put back together would be stronger, that I could help him do that, help him to find his way.  The thing is, how do you say that?  How do you tell someone that you feel so deeply you can somehow absorb the pain of others, set them on the right track, help them heal.  I have always known I have been  that person...

When I was 12 my uncle (first cousin really but he was much older) had a complete breakdown.  He and his family had followed us to a different country when we moved, we had always had close family ties and our fresh start felt like an opportunity for a new beginning for them too.  A year after we moved there they were, no more than couple of miles away.  A few of years later he lost it all.  His wife left him taking everything (money, furniture, and his two children (his daughter and a boy he had brought up since a child... my best friend) with her and throwing in the knife by ensuring he lost his job and all contact in the process.  That was the first time I saw real pain.  I remember my dad getting the call and us jumping in the car.  The cottage was empty with the exception of a solitary arm chair where he was sat, the house was a shock, but was nothing compared to the emptiness of his eyes, they showed he was broken, his heart... bare.  And that's when I learnt.  

Over the forthcoming months I saw my dad slowly, and gently piece him back together.  A smile here, a gentle touch there, and slowly, oh so slowly, the light in his eyes began to show again.  For months I watched as my dad worked his magic.  Always my hero, he had a special soul, one that just 'knew' where to push and where to catch.  I watched and I learnt.  There had been many instances where I'd seen and heard glimmers of my fathers doings before this, but this time I was there.  We had nothing.  Absolutely nothing as I grew up, and yet, he somehow always found a way. I remember times when our cupboards held nothing but one solitary potato and a couple of carrots for the rest of the week and yet we would half what we had and help someone else out.  The better clothes we had, given to people who had less, people who needed them more.  Never a big deal, never a deliberation... always a small gesture.  Not for a thanks, not for a return.  Just because it was a kind thing to do.

After almost a year my uncle was back on his feet.  I remember the handshake.  We had gone to visit that evening (a regular occurrence), and with tears in his eyes he shook my dads hand and told him he was going to be ok now, that he had it.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Just a handshake.  My dad never spoke of it.  He never spoke of any of them.

Several years later, years after my dad had passed I came across an opportunity to get back in touch with my uncles children.  I did so candidly, and a few years later managed to help repair and put them back in touch.  My uncle spent his first Christmas with his daughter shortly after.  He never thanked me.  I didn't ask.  My dad would have been proud and that was enough.

So here I am... Reaching out, not to be rescued, but in the hopes of helping someone who reminds me of someone I once knew, the man I watched all those years ago.  Not the one in need of help, the other.  The man who showed me how to heal a soul.  To love freely, and to know if someone is brave enough to reach out, you must take their hand and ask for nothing in return.  I wish I lived closer because then it would be easier, less crass.  I hope he keeps reaching because I can't imagine my life without having the person that acts as my reminder.  Who else is going to randomly text and make sure I'm eating, ask me how work is going on my crappiest day, and maybe someday keep my nightmares at bay all over again.  I hope he reaches back.

Everything could be about to change.

Birdy - Wings
click for soundtrack