Tuesday, February 19, 2013

The ferocity of reality















Thirty years ago today, a baby boy was born that my parents named Jason.
Jason Michael Charles Bogar.
Michael for my dad.
Charles for my grandfather.
And Jason because they believed that he was a healer.

The name Jason means healer.

Jason spent most of his life terrorizing those around him.
His terrorizing came from a deep place of love.
He was a clown.
He loved to play.
And play hard at that.
He loved to watch me squirm in frustration.
He was a trickster.
How can a trickster be a healer?
It was my brother's way of life.
He provoked.
He caroused.
He never apologized.
He lived life with ferocity and unabashed raucous.
He was a hell raiser.
He loved deeply.
And if you didn't realize that--
You could go fuck yourself.

I wish he hadn't fucking died.

I wish sometimes the world was an awful lot different than it is.
Some days I delight in the world as it is.
Most days I delight in the idea that I can delight in the world as it is.
But today.
But today, right now. I do not want to delight in the way the world is.
I don't even want to delight in the god damn idea that I can delight in the world as it is.
Loving what is
Leaning into it.
Acceptance.
Divine intervention.
Faith.
Fuck all that.
I want to call Jason and welcome him into his thirties.
I don't want the world to be the way it is.
Today.

Turning thirty signifies a time in your life where things shift.
Saturn returns.
We grow up.
The ferocity of our youth meets the wisdom of our old age.
I want to see the collision of trickster and healer.
He died too young to get to grow into the beautiful man that he would have been.

I want to smash something.
I want to talk to him.
I want to be annoyed by him.
I want to hug him.
And ruffle his soft hair.
And stop writing shitty poetry on his birthdays.
To him.
For him.
When he can't fucking read it.

Fuck that.
Fuck this.
I don't want to make this pretty and neat and poetic.
Jason wouldn't want me to.
He would want me to be angry.
If I felt angry.
He would tell me to be sad if I was sad.
So that he could push me unwittingly, smile that gigantic disalarming smile and say.
"Whoa, goochy girl, chill out. Jeeez."

Happy Birthday Jas. Fuck.
You bad ass SOB.

3 comments:

Carise Martindale said...

This just hurts too bad. I'm not sure I know how to do this, so I've choosen to sit in denial for the last almost 5 years. That's exactly what I'm feeling too. Now I just have to allow the feeling to come. It hurts so bad. Thank you sharing this. It's perfect.

Carise Martindale said...

That is it. That was Jason. I find myself forgetting because it's too painful. Thank you little sister for helping me remember. Love you, Goochey Girl.

Carise Martindale said...

That is it. I needed that so bad today. I've been hiding for 5 years now from the reality that I loved him so much and my little brother is dead. Way too soon. It's not possible. But it is. Thank you again for helping me get there. I love you.