Search for: Beckett.
I decided to put his name in my email search finder – and see what is left inside of him, here.
The first thing that appeared was a Substack newsletter from Margaret Atwood – must be a mistake I thought, so I scoured her piece for his name. On first pass, nothing. Then I slowed down, there it is. It was a quote about failure, “Fail. Fail again. Fail better.” by Samuel Beckett. Always looking for a bridge to meaning, I wondered if there was anything here to hold on to. I don’t spend much conscious heart space on my failures – at least not these days. And try as I might there is absolutely no bridge of meaning that connects the word failure to Beckett – he was, is, the antithesis of this word – he is (was) a blessing. A benediction. An amen.
I wrote many months ago about living in a space between the ache and the amen – Beckett was still here, but soon he would not be. I could not imagine the way of the world without his physical presence. So now, one-year later I am living in the amen. The so be it. The certainly. The truly. Amen, I know can also be used as an expression of belief. Yet – even now, all these seconds minutes hours days weeks months later, there exists within me a place that breathes disbelief. It is not a delusional place; it is a true place – a lank tender place that holds an unbelievingness.
The torment of disbelief occupied a lot of me – then. He was just here and now he is gone seemed to be the only words embodying my broken pith. I detested hearing time will heal; it will get easier. I truly did. And if I have ever said these words to you, I am sorry. Time does nothing. It just carries on.
One-year later I do not feel any less sad. Not that the calendar asks that (but our society and culture does). I have built the muscle mass to carry grief. I have made room for it in my heart. There was so much to carry in those early moments. Over time the composition and the volumes of emotion and feeling have transformed. A little bit more room needed for this a little bit less room needed for that. The ache remains. So too does the sadness. So too does the disbelief. Yet – there is also an understanding, a discernment, a remembering, and an amen.
The day we first met Beckett all those years ago standing in his food bowl with wet kibble dripping from his ears, he changed our lives – mine especially. He fed my heart and soul sustenance every day he was here. The day he exhaled his final breath on my right cheek, he changed our lives – mine especially, once again. His name is Beckett (Columbus Geronimo Houdini Futers). I will never stop typing it, searching for it, finding it, saying it. I will never stop believing that he landed in our lives on purpose. That he was and will remain my greatest prayer. My greatest blessing. My greatest everything. Amen.
