A Rage for Revenge

51 Grief

And after we were through bargaining, we did grief.

Depression.

This was the most structured part of the process. Foreman had us move our chairs up against the walls; then he started us milling in a big circle in the center of the room. I was sent down from the platform to join the rest of the trainees for this part.

Some of them patted me as they passed. Others wouldn't look at me. Ashamed? Afraid? I didn't know.

We walked in a slow circle. Around and around and around. There was no sound but the sound of our moccasins on the floor. That was the instruction. Just walk. Don't try to figure it out. Don't think. Don't talk. Just walk in circles for a while and let your feelings come up to the surface.

I noticed that the lights were dimmer. Not a lot dimmer, but the room was no longer bright, no longer as clear.

"All right," said Foreman. "You can start letting some of it out. There're no prizes any more for holding it in. All the rage. All the grief. All the upset." He kept on talking.

"Remember all the times someone said to you. 'You're not good enough?' Or, 'I'm sorry, you came in second.' Or, 'Couldn't we just be friends?' Remember how you felt? Bring that up."

What was the point?

"Think about all the opportunities you've missed in your life. The girls or the boys you didn't proposition. The chances you didn't take. The stock you didn't invest in. The money you didn't save. The classes you cut, the tests you failed, the promotions you missed."

Some of the people around me were crying. A couple were wailing. Was that the point? To walk in circles and have a good cry?

"This is your life," said Foreman. "Let it out. Let it all out. Think about all the people you know who've died and left you behind. How do you feel about that? Don't you feel betrayed'? Mommy died and left you alone. Daddy went away. Grandpa and Gramma. Or maybe it was your brother or sister, or somebody you loved who left you. Maybe it was that one special person, the one you loved more than anybody, and after he or she left you, you knew that you would never love anyone again as much. No, you made that decision a long time ago. You're not going to let yourself get hurt again. You're going to hold it back so they can't get to you, right? Well, you win! Nobody can get to you now. You're all in this alone together. What's that feel like? What's the cost?"

The words bored into us, and we circled, and we cried. The tears were running down our cheeks. The sobs came choking up in my chest. I saw faces from my past. Kenny who killed himself and nobody ever knew why. Steve, who died in his car. Mike's dad, who was found on the patio. Ed, who was murdered. Gramma, who died in the nursing home. My dad--

I noticed they were all men. Well, not Gramma. But all the others. What did that mean? That I really didn't care about any woman enough to mourn her death?

I thought about my mom. Oh, God.

There were all those trips to the hospital when I was little, because of those constant ear aches. And my teeth. My mom used to point to my braces and brag, "Look, there's my new Cadillac." That was before Dad's first best-seller.

Goddammit!

I never had the chance to say goodbye-not to any of them! God-your universe is so damned unfair! I don't mind the dying. I mind the incompleteness of it all! I never had the chance to say goodbye!

All of them

I fell to my knees. I couldn't go on. It wasn't fair. I never had the chance to tell my mother how much I really loved her.

-and all the ones since. Shorty. Larry. Louis. Duke. Jon. Tommy. Alec. Holly.

I bawled. I raged. I sobbed. I choked.

Somebody was helping me to my feet. "Come on, Jim. Keep going. It's all right. Let it up. You're doing fine. Just keep walking."

There were two somebodies walking with me, one on each side. I leaned on them both.

"This is it," said Foreman's voice. He was omnipresent. "This is your life. This is how it turned out. It's written all over your face. Your whole body is an expression of who you are. Everything. How you walk, how you talk, how you carry yourself, how you present yourself to everyone else.

"This is you. Let it in. This is it! This is how you used your potential. This is what you did with it.

"Get it!" Foreman was shouting. "You are not going to be crowned king, after all! You are not going to be president. You are not going to be a movie star. You are not going to marry Prince Charming. And who the fuck cares anyway? This is it!"

It was horrifying.

And then, Foreman's tone shifted. He was no longer shouting. Somehow, he had become compassionate.

"You carry your grief around with you everywhere you go. You drag your dead bodies with you all through your life. So what? What do you get for it? Nothing. So why do you do it? Look at the cost to you. Look at how it pushes you into anger and revenge. Look at how it keeps you from getting close to the people you really care about. Look at how it keeps you from being complete with them."

Foreman's voice became a comforting presence.

"The only thing you can do that way is survive. And you can't even do that all that well, because all that energy you have tied up in grief and anger and revenge is energy you don't have for anything else. You certainly can't win a war that way. Listen to me. There's something on the other side of survival. There's something so much bigger than survival that mere survival becomes irrelevant in the face of it-and no, I can't tell you what it is. You have to find it for yourself. And you will. I promise you.

"Keep or. letting go of the grief. It's like an anchor holding you down. Let it out. Give it up. Give it away. You don't need to carry it around any more."

And then, after a while, the last of the grief had been shed and we sat down on the floor or leaned up against the walls, We were exhausted. Some people hugged. Some continued to weep quietly, but there were smiles on their faces now and the tears were tears of comfort and joy.

And then, after that, it was time for dinner. After dinner--