I may soon be able to write. But right now, I just need to go through it.
So, the other day I got pissed at Mr. Yummy.
He’s never around, he never lets me know if he’s off on a bender, hanging with family, or doing something I don’t want to know about.
I guess it was out of anger, I told him I would be gone Tuesday through Friday. I must have surgery and will stay somewhere else (where he doesn’t have to care for or help me out). He kind of stopped packing his firearms and ammunition and asked very surprised what I needed surgery for? I sort of surprised myself because I became hostile and told him I didn’t really feel like telling him WHY, because it doesn’t fucking matter. We both said a few other things. Mostly I said, to have felt so dismissed and ignored has hurt and I am at the point where I just don’t give a shit anymore. He quietly said, “I don’t want you to feel like that.”
I didn’t really say anything to that, because I’m hurt. It would have been mean and more of the same.
For a year, I have been trying to put my mother fucking life back together. I lost Mel, I have lost Mr. Yummy and I lost a good friend and daughter, because she thought something I posted on Facebook about Mr. Yummy, was about her.
I’m fucking tired, and I am tired of losing people and honestly, I don’t fucking care anymore. Fuck it. Everyone wants to go away? GO AWAY!
True to Yum form, he took off for a few days. No response to me saying “you hurt me, it sucks and I can’t give a fucking shit anymore.” He knows I am looking at moving. This all sucks, but I don’t care anymore. I can’t. Maybe it won’t be a pretty little hate garden, but it’s not a fucking love festival.
So imagine my surprise when he comes in last night, drunk. He climbs in his bed, next to me, and rolls over facing me and loosely snuggles up to me and starts touching my feet and toes, with his feet and toes. he knows I like this.
I was mad. I don’t want to trust it. AND WHY THE FUCK NOW, after I said I don’t fucking care anymore. I feel like I was naive and gullible with him and I don’t trust much with him now.
Go ahead, go the fuck away.
What is it I want to say to her?
She’s been gone over a year now, and I still miss her every fucking day. The pain hasn’t gone away, but it has lessened some.
There are just so many things I would have told her in 365 plus days. Most of my year has been really shitty, because I have been dealing with losing her. The loss of her so dwarfed any loss I have ever known before.
It dwarfed the loss of practically everything. In a way, I lost myself. The me I had become, the open, loving, happy, and hopeful person. I was a person living with intent, and doing the things I was creating in my life and losing her just…FUBAR. In all ways.
I’m still here. I am still living and though I am happy, I am depressed. I don’t want to stay in this place. The loss of her was so, so deep. I truly feel most people don’t understand it. Yes, she was my best friend, but she was so much more. She was my sister, at times my mother, and at times my kid. She was my soul mate and I never understood that, till that moment I told her as much as she lay there on life support. At least, to my clouded and blacked out memories of those 11 days in Texas, she was still on life support at that point. What room were we in? NICU or Hospice? I really don’t remember.
I remember in NICU, walking into her room and it was empty. My heart started beating out of my chest. I thought she had died. I don’t even remember why she wasn’t in her room when I got there, I just remember them telling me she had been taken to someplace and she would be back.
I remember going into the Emergency room, after we removed the life support, after I asked her what she needed. Her eyes looked at mine and I knew, she needed/wanted life. I asked her as much, “You want to live huh?” I remember her responding with a slight nod and tears. I remember panicking and asking her if she wanted me to get the doctors, nurses and, machines back? She responded with a negative nod. I asked her, “What are you going to do, just fight till you can’t fight anymore?” She, nodded yes. I replied that I was there to hold her hand. I remember we cried together. I remember walking the halls later and just wanting to scream my mother fucking lungs out and never stop. It was in my head and my heart and it just needed out. I had NO CLUE how to process what was happening before my eyes. I found myself in the ER, falling apart, crying that my best friend was in NICU dying and I didn’t know what to do. They made me fill out paperwork. Eventually, I left. I just got up and walked out after a while, sitting in a room, crying. I walked the halls. I sneaked outside and smoked a joint. I went back to her.
I remember so much, but it’s foggy, blurred, blacked out.
I remember that sound in my head, at that final meeting with doctors and the final MRI results. I remember asking if once the ventilator, catheter, and attendants started, would there ever be life without them. I remember being told no. I remember the doctor saying her reality would be fuzzy and dream-state like, forever. I remembered her coming to me the night before in that not asleep, not awake state. Showing me myself, leaning over her in the hospital bed earlier that day. I could see the shape of my long hair, under Dylan’s Carhardt hat. I knew it was myself and I knew it was how she was seeing me. Then there was that sound in my head. It was the collective sound of everyone in that room knowing she was coming off life support. It was the sound of comprehension. It was the sound of everything secure, being destroyed. It was loud, ripping, wailing, deep and long in duration.
I began typing this over three weeks ago. So sad I was on the day I was writing, I left it in draft at “I remember that sound in my head…” Here I sit, 1 year, 1 month and 1 day after your death, wondering if you would be proud of me for still being here. Wondering if I am crazy, because I know you so well, that when other people say, “She wouldn’t want you to mourn forever.” I have to try not to laugh at them. I think you would have secretly loved that I loved you so much it wrecked me. I think you would approve of the depths of my grief and how I have been unable to step beyond it. I think you would think, it was appropriate and that your human form would have been saddened at it, yet loved it. Now, however, I wonder if you would be proud of me for wanting to get back on track with where I was?
I’ll always be sad that you left. My life will never be the same, but I have definitely learned much, in many ways.
Sometimes, there is freedom in being told to fuck off.
It has taken me a long fucking time to find my peace, regardless that I would prefer a different outcome, but I am here.
I’ve taken my depression into my own hands. Micro baby steps, but after a week, I know I am doing the right thing and am going to continue with my current course. Sometimes it is better to listen to yourself, AKA, your gut.
It is funny, that I have become the mother to other women’s children. I was told this would happen to me, when I was really young. 17 years old and I was told I would have a child, but that child would not be mine, that I would be the mother to the world’s children. Here at 51, I have 5 other kids, aside from the one I gave birth to and two of them have a child.
These other children who have found a way into my life, love me for ME.
So, I’m moving forward, sure in what I am doing and curious to see what life is going to bring me in this new chapter of a new and different/changed me.
I read a card in the grocery store today. It is something I would have sent Mel. I felt that deep pang and loss of having my best friend here in the world, but I didn’t break down and cry. After mourning her for so long, I feel like I am sort of mourning the loss of something people take for granted every single day, a best friend. Maybe someday I will connect with someone again and, if I do, I will be grateful, and a better friend because I have known the best.
It’s what I have come to feel.
She hurled hate at me. She blames, blames, blames, but has no desire to know the truth. She hides, safe in the bubble of familiar.
She watches me. Pretty odd for someone who doesn’t give a shit. I care, but I don’t. I will never set myself up to be punished by her again. Were she to try and contact me, I don’t know how far I would be willing to go. I will never turn away someone I love. Make no mistake, I love her, but I also will never let a dog who bites, bite me again. I am also very , very unlikely to bring her around Mr. Yummy. I keep him safe. We may have been through some shit this last year, but we are finally talking. There is finally some fire burning again, and he is…above my abusive and abusing past.
I feel less and less for her, because that is what SHE wants. I don’t know if I would ever turn it around or could trust again.
This is not what I ever wanted, but I am OK with it, because I have to be OK with it. Unlike her (you, because I know your eyes or someone else is checking in) I don’t stalk. I am strong enough to face anything. Surviving the losses I have survived the last five years, has taught me this.
So the hate she invests in me, is not hurting me. I don’t feel it, seething and eating away and robbing her soul of peace. It doesn’t hurt me, not like it hurts her. It has actually started to fade, because I have no choice.
I took a new step yesterday. It’s one I have been thinking of doing for a few years, to ratchet up that Spiritual journey.
Sometimes baby steps are actually micro steps.
Yesterday was one year since you let out your final breath as you arrived at the end of your journey.
What have I learned since then?
I realize that in a way, I’ve sort of grown up a bit. All those fears and issues I would have with life, you know the ones that we would always come back to in conversation, have had to be dealt with on my own. I didn’t have the safety net of you; the one person I could say anything to.
At first it was chest grabbing and crushing. I’d feel the panic start and that buzzing cycle that runs through an ever thinking brain, full of “what-ifs”. I have sort of learned over the last year that when I can’t reach out to you, I won’t explode. My world won’t explode but, I’ve had to resolve MY issues, on my own. That, or suffer the consequences of the cycle of obsessive thinking.
Over time, I’m learning to actually walk the rope of life on my own. Some days it is hard, other days, “I got this, girl.” Always though, I miss you and am grateful for you. Regardless of every thing you did and didn’t do to yourself, my hurt, anger, sadness…you have taught and continue to teach me much. I know I’ll never have a fill in for you, but I will always be a better friend, because of us.
I don’t feel guilty anymore for how I feel about your kids. They are mine now. We will always have a bond because of you and I will always be a tie to you, with them. I’m pretty sure you would be OK with that. Living, and watching your children grow and live, will honor you.. I will never be you to them, but I am Auntie and I will there when they need a mom figure to turn to.
The plus one day…
I woke up this morning, went out back to smoke in the frosty darkness. I thought:
So I, am 1 today. One year ago today I woke up to live without you holding my hand. I’ve been doing it one my own for a year and a day now. I’m pretty sure I am going to make it. It does feel like it will be ever so much longer without you here. I miss your laugh and you quick witted, cutting humor. I miss your love, though I know it is still there following me, as mine still does you. It’s the loss of physical you. It’s made me feel so selfish because all of this grief has been about me. My sadness. My loss. My feelings. Me, me me.
I still cry, just not as often. I just went to get a tissue to wipe my eyes and saw your ashes in the slender vile. I had taken them out the other night because I was debating them taking you with me on the one year day; to have you close to me. Instead I left you here. When I saw the vile I began to really cry. Holding the vile close to try and hug what I have left of what physically held your beautiful soul and then tucking you back in my safety place.
I also realize that everyday, the randomness of death touches someone. If you are lost, wandering, not knowing how to deal with your grief and reading this… I am so sorry for your loss. There is nothing I can say to you to make anything make sense, or stop hurting, but I do understand grief, and I am sorry you are here. My only words I can even attempt to share, the words I hang onto in the darkest moments are that Love…never dies. Physically, it changes how you live it, but it never dies, because it’s pure energy. I know that Melissa’s energy went back to beginning so it didn’t just die. It absorbed back into where it originated from. I originated from this place, and so did you. I just haven’t always recognized the moments that it still touches me, but a few times I have. Those little moments keep me going.
So, one year, plus one day. I still love you.
Three hundred and sixty-six days have come and gone since we took you off life support.
I’ve had so many firsts and one year marks that I’m sorta numb. My first birthday without you. The one year since we last spoke on the phone. The one year anniversary of the stroke. Your first Birthday, after you died. The first anniversary of removing your life support. There are just so many moments like that.
The oldest boys, plus Joey (I hear you laugh) were here Christmas eve and Christmas day. We spent our first Christmas without you, together. We made your fondant for the first time, without you.
I feel invisible in this world you left behind. I can say something to Mr. Y and it’s like I am not even in the room with him, like I don’t exist in his world. My feet want to run, but my heart knows if I do, I will never see him again. So I am starting to ask myself if that is so bad, or OK? I mean, he’s NOT feeling me, so why stay?
Still, no major life choices while feeling…this.
I miss you.