"Remember me as all things wild."
Adam Scott Fulford
1989-2018
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This is not for me.
This is for the pieces of my heart scattered throughout the states, spaces, times, and faces that shared Adam...
...his blessings and his trials...
...his beauty and his beast.
______________________________________
I've been avoiding this. For months before the news of this loss, I'd been contemplating plugging into this outlet to release written energy so unlike this kind. I don't like the energy of losing a loved one, no one does. However, this is what I'm known to do. This is my way of presence. This is how I friend. What I know is words, and so...
...I've set the pain aside to write this... for us to hold hands through the teachings of it... and lift him to flight TOGETHER.
These are things I've learned thus far,
and the things I wished I knew
This is for the strength in US...
...and for the heart in you.
______________
To my dearest family, friends who are family, friends who made the family, the family trying to make it through:
As I'm writing this, the leaves outside my window are floating and falling against a strangely confused sky, sometimes blue, sometimes blah. I'm reminded that it's a change of season, and if there is anything this season preaches, it's that the leaves will show us how beautiful it can be to let things go.
The night I got the news, I experienced a very constructive shift. It came with remembering the loss of my mother. The association made me feel selfish. The paralleling of the two circumstances made me feel hateful toward addiction in a way that strangled my happiest memories of him, and of her. The city they shared during their last days got some really creative descriptions of my disgust for it, and as I put on the shoes of his love, his family, his daughter, and all of those he left to live on without him, I broke into a million pieces. Then, I came to. On the other end of the line was the shared silence of a long time friend, a mutual tie, the oxymoron of an unspoken cacophony of memories with Adam, and how they were made. Suddenly, it wasn't about the loss. It was about the life lived before it. The memories of bus stops, and sleepovers... secrets and surprising additions to this world... vulnerability that opened us all up as a tightly knit group to the ability to love one another without borders... to feel each other from afar... a childhood that shaped us... a life lived up to this point that could not have been lived as it was... without him. I learned how to shift from the pain to the presence.
It was a call that I knew was as hard for her to make, as it was for me to take. We both agreed that the role we must play now, is one that serves as a foundation for everyone to hold strong. We change with those we love, and we learn from those we lost.
We must remember something as beating hearts still able to breathe:
These are the teachings of pain.
We would never, could never, shouldn't ever ask for these types of teachings, but they are inevitable, and no matter how deep they can cut, they're meant to sculpt. Just like the feathers on the wings of this angel, we all need to stick together in order to fly.
It's not fair, and it's not in the scheme of things, but it is his story-one that we all have the ability to read over and over, and with the last page... know that we can start again.
Thank God for good teeth and a bright, wide smile.
Thank God for his illustration through the eyes of his child.
Thank God for his wings, and his light through the rain,
but most of all, thank God for the ceasing of his pain.
Throw the rocks, rip to shreds,
Scream so loud your face turns red.
When you feel it, you can lift it, and it can't weigh you down...
It's worked through with the muscles you need for the frown.
But when you find a pause, when you're reaching your wit's end,
remember you're still alive, and allow your heart to mend.
Loving you without borders,
Les
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