This month, I have had the urge to pick up my phone and call you. Just to have that two hour long free flow of words between us.
So much I would tell you.
I realize, this is going to happen to me the rest of my life. I got the boys key chain urns for your ashes. I’m going to get Dylan a little tag that says. “My Hero”. Jake’s will say “My Immortal”. I’ll get Mik her necklace around Valentines day because it is more expensive. Hers will say, “SnS”, as will mine. Mine will be a lover’s heart. Not that we were lovers, but you were my soul mate and I loved you so fucking deeply. I really learned so much about unconditional love by having you as my friend. True besties, are closer than lovers in a way because unlike some of my lovers, you knew everything, and the same it was with my knowledge of you and some of your lovers, or would be, should have been, your lovers. Mik’s will be a mother and child embrace. She loved the one I picked out for her.
Mik is driving. Has a job, bought herself a car and is living with her BF. Not Mason. Mason blew it with her, she busted him cheating because he left a message session open on his phone. Her BF is the tall lanky kid she went to his prom with.
Jake is with a new girl. I don’t know her name. I’ve not met her, but she has helped him feel something good again, since you died. The whole drama with baby mama, and her shit really fucked Jake up for a while. So did losing you. I am happy to see him smile and he tells me all the time, “I Love you Auntie!” He warms my heart with how giving he is with his love.
Dylan has been a steady moving ship. He’s so mellow and level headed, till he’s not. I don’t think he loses it very often anymore and when he has lost it, guess who is always involved, yanking his chain? Yep. Jake. But they are so close. Jake definitely loves his big brother. It really is something to see the tenderness between them at times. Dylan, I worry about at times because I can’t imaging him not flashing back on finding you, picking you up and driving to the ER like a bat out of hell, only to have the hospital send you to Plaza Medical Center.
So much time slipped by between the start of your stroke, and getting you the proper medical treatment you needed. I wouldn’t feel such a loss, had you not filled a part of my life so completely. I love, that even as you were fighting to die, we shared laughter. I love that even as you were fighting to die, you KNEW I had your back. I love that even as you fought to die, I KNEW your thoughts and feelings by looking into your eyes. My beautiful soulmate, how I miss your laughter and love. I can’t believe in four evenings, it will be two years since I last heard your voice and words.
I have been teary as of late, and I accept certain times of the year will hurt more.
No one has forgotten Tristan. No one but your mother communicates with him because she and What’s His Name are thick as thieves. Imagine that.
Love you forever.
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.
Due to a few things I have experienced, I am not afraid of the day I die. I know enough to know that when my body dies, my energy returns to creation because that is what we are. Energy, and as such, we will always return to our source, which will always create.
Having said that, death still tends to hurt my heart. Even over an animal. He would have been 19 next month. He lived the last ten years of his life, dependent on insulin. He lived the first few months of his life in such a traumatic hell that when he first came, he hid under a bed for six weeks. It took my mother four months to bond with him. He was still under a few years when I met him. He was beautiful and large, like Maine Coones are. My goal was to get him to not run, and let me pet him. It took 4 years.
Mom taught me to never approach his face from above to pet him, to “come in from behind.” Once we established that, bathroom love wasn’t far behind. Bathroom love was him following you into the bathroom, and letting you pet him as he wound around your ankles. If you got the scritches going and the motor on, he would then jump on the toilet seat and demand full body pets.
Soon, I learned the honor of causing him to “head-butt” things as you pet him. Or cross-paw Sphinx look and how he would roll his head into the ground on a really good love session. I saw the beauty of a very wounded animal, work through his trauma. My mother loved him like he needed loving, and taught those around him, how to love him in the manner he needed for his soul. He, in his magnificence of simply being, taught us much and the last half of his life, he came out of his shell. He let his voice be heard and gone was his meek squeak.
I was at work yesterday and got a text from mom. We had been talking about it being time to let go because he was at the point of no quality right around the corner. He was all bone, he couldn’t see, he wouldn’t shit in his box, more like couldn’t. The text read, “If you are home around 6, would you go with Meeko and me? I figure you would want to say good-bye. I has a sad.”
*break to Irony*
Last night, I was part of a very peaceful and dignified departure. It was sad, and it hurt my heart to have to go through it, but at the same time, I was thinking how lucky he is, he is returning to his original source and surely, that is a state of true, unconditional love.
I fell asleep last night, knowing my mom was very sad, but that Meeko, was right with the Universe. At 5:30 ish, I awoke to a horrific sound. The Jack Russel terrier upstairs was wailing. I mean heart stopping screaming that ripped me from my peaceful slumber and into protective, panic mode. Her name is Willow, and she is old as well. 14 years old. The last 5 or 6 years, Willow has had seizures, been on meds, has had bladder issues, and became aggressive from the steroids they put her on. Lately, she walks herself into corner, or where objects meet and gets stuck. She will brush her body against the wall, and as soon as she makes contact, she becomes magnetized and “stuck”.
This morning, I was hearing her worst seizure ever. I could hear her person, through the floorboards, freaking out. She called mom who went up and sat with Willow, while Pat got her girlfriend to work. I made mom some coffee and took it up. I walked in and Willow was in my mothers arms, having another violent seizure. The look on my mother’s face was awful. Willow was panting, shaking, and her tongue was blue. Slowly, she stopped and lay, drained in my mother’s arms.
As I got to the end of the paragraph above with my mother saying, “…I has a sad.”, mom walked in and said Pat was home and they were going now to take Willow in. I stopped writing, went up, walked in, kissed the top of Pat’s head, patted Willow’s head and thanked her for being a good friend. I then broke down at the sadness and pain in the room. I got them out the door came back down and cried a little bit, made the *note* above and took a moment to breathe and remember two amazing animals.
Grateful to have learned big lessons, from tiny animals.
08, March 2013 I did not mention the fact that when we put Meeko “down”, we were both in the room, but I did not stay for the moment of death. Mom had only paid for cremation, but could not afford the box and return of the ashes to add to Charlie and Yard Dawgs, as pictured above. Her plan has been to plant them with a tree. I knew it was hurting my mom to not give Meeko the same “dignity and respect” she was once financially able to show her feline family.
As Meeko lay stretched out like Maine Coones stretch, face in her palms, mom bent over him crying, I could not let his ashes go away from her and I said, “Fuck it, I’ll be right back”. They had already given him the sedative, and I had been right there thanking him for 19 years of living. I saw him slip to a state of almost not knowing.
As I stood out front paying for the cedar box and return of ashes, the gave him the second shot and in hindsight, I am kind of glad I didn’t watch them stop life. I don’t know how I am going to eat next month, but I feel good that I did something that was truly from the heart. I believe the most powerful gifts and actions in life are those that come from the heart.