Never Say Die: Requiem for the Grandiose

NEVER SAY DIE

Requiem for the Grandiose

©1997 Susan Noyes Anderson

The Comstock Review

The day you killed me, I thought––What a drag––

and started making funeral arrangements.

I'd deal with all the requisite estrangements.

If dying was the task, then I'd die fine.

"A wooden casket?" No, I'd take the steel.

"They rust? All right, then make mine copper, please."

"Impervious," they crowed. That worked for me.

Off-white, of course, with roses at the crown.

Let it be said, "She always stopped to smell them."

The eulogy? (Could this have been poor taste?)

Who better to deliver it than me?

Though dead, I eulogized myself so well,

that people barely noticed I was gone;

though later some were sorry to conclude

that I had failed––sometimes they felt the loss.

And resurrection did exceed my grasp.

I wrote Never Say Die, a Requiem to the Grandiose when I was 45 years old, the year my first book was published. It seems I was treating myself in poetic form to a heavy dose of the martyr, using my "angry" version of humor (translation: sarcasm) to at once validate and honor my experience while working through considerable and not entirely unfounded resentment. (I have always been a fan of writing my way to clarity.) Of course, more than a few of the barbs in this piece were aimed outward...at those who needs I was endeavoring, with an empty cup, to fill. (Codependent much?)

What I remember is that I had stretched myself very thin at the time. I felt as if people were pulling at me from all directions, expecting more from me than was reasonable, especially in light of health issues that had become chronic. I was hurt and, yes, angry that no one seemed to notice how overextended I was, and I felt the weight of their continuing expectations. Conversely, I was in the beginning stages of realizing that much of my angst was self-inflicted. (Presenting as superwoman was not a particularly effective way of helping people tune in to my needs!)

Happily, I have grown more adept over the years at finding and maintaining balance in my life...and of owning the fallout when I fail to do so. How reassuring it is to look at things I have written in the past and see tangible proof that growth actually does occur. And I am often surprised at the degree of affection I feel toward my younger, struggling self. I even find myself wanting to take that earlier me under my wing. I guess you could say I am healing (and befriending) my inner chick, and ya know what? It feels good!

;)

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