The Jimmy Funeral

I had a Jimmy funeral in October. I really think its taken root. The only semi-psycho thing I have done surrounding Jimmy is try to see his girlfriend's picture on facebook without friending him. And I only did it once. And now its Valentine's day and I can almost not see Jimmy anymore in my imagination. (Insert "Most of the Time" by Bob Dylan). I reread my funeral document. I decided to post it with a hearty AMEN.

Jimmy,
I have to say goodbye to you.

We have been friends since November of 2001. Though our relationship has officially never been more than that, it felt like we always had an unusual chemistry. At first I thought it was just me. From the moment I first saw you until now, you have always been the hottest person I have ever known in real-life. I have oscillated between maintaining a cynical distance and melting in middle-school like obsession. I was mortified when I got caught drawing you, or when I found out that you read part of my journal talking to God about how I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I loved it that we had a strange alliance. I stuck up for you if anyone said you were dumb, and you stuck up for me if people said I was weird. You also tried to convince me I wasn’t fat. One time you asked me to dinner. I had plans already. I honored my commitment, but I was so torn up about it that I was a total ass in front of a nice guy that took me out, because I wanted so badly to be with you (so I got drunk on red wine). I am embarrassed, looking back that I gave you a hand-written invitation to a salmon dinner cooked on my George Forman grill in the dorms, or that I made you a valentine, or that I tried to pay one night we were all out at dinner and you said “why” and I yelled out, “Because you’re beautiful!” I hated it that you ranked me lower than Gifford and Tilleli in our squad rankings, and that you laughed at my anger and hurt over it. I loved that you called me a scrapper after I beat that girl in pugel sticks. When you asked me to run once, I went, even though I just got back from a five mile run!! I did better than you at most things at TBS, which bothered you. But once I shot you (and you were on my team) in a field exercise and you treated me with contempt and disgust. I felt bad about that. You also did not like listening to me when I was in charge. You wouldn’t do what I said, even though it would have been good for me. It made me feel weird when you noticed what I was wearing, or commented on me wearing makeup—like you could always touch a place of vulnerability with me. I think I could do the same with you…like when I would tease you for being a wimp about the cold. You were a jerk when Angela came to meet you…you knew she was sizing you up and you refused to perform. I thought you were a brat for that but I guess I liked it. Shellylynne met you to—I remember you were nice to her. I remember meeting your parents; my parents were there too on "Jane Wayne" day. I acted more familiar with you than I really was, just to be a brat. My dad was kind of obsessed with your dad…because he was so “mafia boss.” At graduation, my mom and sister saw you for the first time. They thought you were ok, but didn’t seem to be as mesmerized as me.

I am surprised we kept in touch. At first we were really busy. I went to war almost right away and got in trouble and all that. You were IOC, and then in San Diego just waiting to go to war. You went to a Ben Harper concert with me and Ang in San Diego. You were late—and I didn’t specify which side of the stadium to meet on. So I spent some frantic time running from one end of the stadium to the other. Somehow you found me in a construction lot (because you knew I would be there…I have no idea how you can predict me when I can’t predict myself). You caught me climbing a 12 foot tall chain link fence in a dress. I stood just hairs-lengths away from you all concert and didn’t touch you. It was weird and scary and magnetic and blissful. At the end, you gave me a big hug. I said I had gotten into some trouble. The way you reacted I knew you already knew. I thought it was kind you chose not to mention it, that you didn’t need the details. You gave me the benefit of the doubt. Then I realized you never paid me for the concert tickets. It usually felt like I was putting in too much.

I set you up with Melissa one time. I guess I hoped I would get over you, and I proved to myself I was by setting you up with my best friend. You were in to it but she wasn’t. I guess I was secretly glad…because it humbled you? Or maybe because I knew I was in love with you.
I went to visit you on a layover for a day before you went to war. It was scary, but I played it real cool. You picked me up off the airport light rail and we drove to your best friend’s house. I teased you in front of your friends and you liked it (because it was flattering) and your friends thought I was funny. I don’t think they could tell I was scared. You did rude things…like went on a run with me and didn’t stay with me, and did your own thing instead of being a good host. (Slept in, rented a movie I had already seen, showed me a few parts of Chicago but did what you felt like for the most part.) While I felt smugly satisfied with myself for being such a good friend and not being into you, being in your presence always made me nervous. When I left, you gave me a big hug and told me you were glad I came.

Some things you said have been really incongruent for me. You have told me “You’re the only one I can talk to.” “I love you but you are too virtuous for me” and “I love you but I wish you were my sister, maybe you can date my brother and become my sister in law.”. You told me once in a sarcastic tone, “I don’t know how to handle mom when she crys.” Then, when I take the comment lightly because of your emotionally detached delivery, you become upset that I am not giving you good counsel, and taking you seriously.

Every time you went to war I was convinced you were going to die and not go to heaven. I sent you two ridiculously elaborate care packages, along with many over-the-top small ones. Hidden underneath a Chicago Cubs snow globe was a brown paper package marked with a scull and crossbones just in case you were on the brink of death. It was my spiritual treatise. It was the best explanation I had…everything from my beach ball analogy to “The Grand Inquisitor” by Dostoyevsky, to my “self help book of the moment” How People Grow by Cloud and Townsend. I was mortified by the fact that you didn’t die and I had to live in a world where I sent you the best I had and would never be able to take it back. You and I never really talked about it, even though I tried. You just said something like your faith was private.

When I spent that time at the monastery, I had a lot of dreams about you. I was specifically trying to discern whether or not I should be single or married…catholic or protestant…a wife with kids, a writer, etc. I was afraid to ask God for anything, just in case he didn’t give it to me. But when someone called me on that, and told me to take a risk and ask, I asked for clarity about you. I talked to a nun about you. She called me out on my dishonesty to myself…Why had I set you up with Melissa? Why had I acted like I thought of you only as a friend? Why have I not expressed my love?

I composed the best poem of my life—not the best because it was so amazingly literary, but because to this day it conveys my summer dreams, the images I hold of you, the parts of God you represent, the tensions in our relationship, the inner work I do as the result of our interactions. The word pictures that sum you up to me are Fire red, Irish, Spartan warrior, predator ( keep me dangling) prey (hiding, running puffing peacock feathers) carrying guilt, inner child, mother’s worries. Our harsh desert friendship, your lumberjack arms holding me, how scary it is to think of being in them. You took a long time to respond…you told me you appreciated it but you wanted to talk to me in person. When you finally called (a month later) you did so late at night, the day before you left for war. You told me a long story about how you and your dad told each other you loved each other for the first time a week ago, and then you told me you loved me but I was to virtuous for you.

While you were at war, I thought about showing you just how not-virtuous I was. But I decided that would be nuts and really unhealthy. I did send you a Bob Dylan montague, which was way toned down from its original draft, which included the song lyrics to “I want You” and “Sometimes I’m in the Mood”.

Then I dated Lee. In some ways it was like dating you. I did care about Lee, and in some ways it was like dating a redeemed version of you…because he loved me enough to be gentle and kind and accommodating. But I worried I was settling for a lesser version of you…one that would never be your brilliance. You were coming back from war that summer. What if being with Lee destroyed my one chance to be with you? Even if Lee and I would have lasted past February, I was not willing to jeopardize that chance.

Last year, I tried to hint around that you should come to Ireland with me. You would be out of the USMC, you were going there anyway at some point. But it was clear you had your own agenda. Next, you said you would come out and ski with me that winter (your first winter out of the USMC and mine at Montbello) I really needed you then . Montbello was so hard, it was a terrible experience getting involved with Gregory, and I just wanted your love and attention. You didn’t come out. I didn’t know at the time, but you had started dating “Shiera”.

I had a pretty buddy-like stage with you for a while. I remember having that nun conversation with you, trying to convince you to find a spiritual director, because you were going through hard times. You came at the end of July. I was willing to drop everything to see you , but you were in Vail at a wedding with your girlfriend (which you weren’t honest about) and didn’t make time for me. I was hurt. We didn’t talk for a while. I went to Mexico, you checked in with me when I was done. You said you had been reading some of the blogs. That’s cool I guess. You tiptoed back into talking to me, because you were afraid of my wrath after I told you what a bad friend you were for not seeing me.

You need to know that every time you call, it sends me on tilt. You called in August, while I was on my “tour de marriage”, after an email conversation. First, you sent me that Outward Bound email where you ambiguously invited me on an adventure, then one where you admit that you want to talk but don’t want to face my wrath. I sent you and inviting email to talk to me about your woes. You call, we talk for a while, I become determined to get closure once and for all. I send you my ultimatum (commit by October or bust). We talk a few times since then…all great conversations…You are going through hard times. The thing with your girlfriend is rough…your cousin overdosed and died, you feel unfocused, you feel overall depressed and dealing with PTSD. While I am not glad you are hurting, I am glad to be needed.

Then the drunk call mid-September. It’s two in the morning. I answer the phone because I have always made myself available to you. You tell me you love me but you want me as a sister. You ask me a whole lot of things about my sexuality…I think you are trying to resolve something in your mind. You think of me as asexual, so you think you could never be in a relationship with me. You don’t come out and say it but this is where it’s going. You tell me you and “Shiera” will be out the last week of September, and could we hang out? I have a crazy week of self improvement/ destruction projects and you don’t even call. A riculously expensive facial, a diet of vegetables and chocolate, a shopping spree for slutty hiking clothes, a new haircut, a clean house and you don't call. On the one hand, I am happy. I am fealing fat and hate myself…it wouldn’t be good if you saw me like this. On the other and I just wanted to see you…

However it gave me an excuse to finally say goodbye. Here is my email.

Hey,

It bothers me you didn't call to get together this weekend.

Our interactions aren't good for me. They send me into this wierd state of manic self destruction/self improvement/self loathing. I don't understand it, but I don't want it in my life. Its like a bad trip. (I haven't done drugs, so I haven't had a bad trip but this is what I imagine they feel like.)

So, I know you said when you were drunk you would do anything for me; Here is what I want: don't talk to me anymore. I know you have good intentions, I know you mean the best. I don't want you to even write me back and say so. I believe you. I believe in you, I want all the best in life for you. Its just that having any sort of relationship is just no good for me.

It seems like you are thinking about and working on some cool things. I pray for God's peace and mercy on your travels.

See ya in Heaven? We will have eternity to catch up I'd imagine.

Find a good nun friend with better boundaries to take my place would ya?

Jaim

I had a dream about you a few nights after I sent this:

You and I are doing some trip to this incredibly dangerous tropical place. I am trying to play it cool but inside I am boiling with desire. We talk a little, you start fooling around a little…its unclear whether we will be sexually intimate or not. I am very shy sexually around you. “Holy Fear”. It feels good to just be with you. Scary too. I feel nervous. I can’t eat, all my focus is on you. I have to go for a minute to attend to some family business. I end up with mom grandma aunty and Dinah. Aunty has brought Dinah a big basket of chocolate, with this huge cadburry bunny egg. I tell them my sister Jodi will be furious when she finds out, they say she won’t know but I know Dinah will tell them somehow.

I wake up and realize that part of the loss of you is the fear that I may not ever want anything as much as I want you. Each day I have half-heartly tried not to have a candy binge and every day I have given in since I "gave up" you. I know eating healthy was largely motivated by a "you chance". Now that I don't have that, weight loss becomes less immediately needed. Gluttony is bad, God and Jesus are good, but the ambivalence around food is there in a big way without my motivation of “get skinny and fabulous quick in case I see you”.

The thing is, most of my life I live in deep ambivalence...about just about everything including God. Yet I have experienced dangerous, scary desire for you. Sometimes Candy too. God? Nope. Jesus...nope. A job? A dream? Nope. I can throw myself into something, but I always know in the back of my mind that I am talking myself into it, and the spell won't last. Something that haunts me across the span of my life was when Matthew Guiles, when I asked him to sum me up in a sentence, said "You don't know what you want.".

I have tried plenty of times to want the right thing...It simply doesn't work, in my perspective, to force desire. I guess that is my biggest fear "losing you". That I will no longer feal singular desire for something, someone--not God or anything. Food slips in so easily. Maybe it is about who I need to become. How do I want to be more like you? You are down to earth, practical, beautiful, in-the-moment, instinctive, healthy in your view of yourself, unrigid, and intense in a more present, in-the-now way than me. How is Jesus like you? I can’t answer that yet…maybe with you out of the picture, that one will make more sense.

What do you want from me? Emotional support, a projection of your Anima, a real-life “Mother Mary,” someone to do your emotional work, someone to worship you?

Jimmy, ultimately you are not there for me. I can’t call you for help or support. When I have reached out, you haven’t been there. Why did you tell me he how much you love me and I am one of your best friends, but then you continually stand me up? Why do you tell me you sorry for using me as a confessor and that you would do anything for me, but the one thing I ask for—to see you—you do not give me? I wanted the chance to see you. I want to be over you or I want you to see me a different way. You didn’t give me that chance. I decided to lean into the advice of people who care about me more than you do. As John put it, “DON'T SPEND FUN TIME WITH MEN YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH WHEN THEY'RE INVOLVED W OTHER LOVERS!!

I take away your power to grant or withhold my sense of well-being. I release you to live a life in God’s mercy and peace. I release my fascination with you. I can no longer accept your version of friendship in my life. I can no longer agree to continue to experience the abuse of your inconsistency and unavailability. I have decided to look other places for an advocate and protector. I will miss you but I know that I will see you in heaven if we both end up there.

God knows I gave you the best I had to offer of His love. I have nothing else for you.

Goodbye, Jaimie