February 25, 2010

On surfacing

I'm starting to come out of my funk.  I'm sleeping again, and food almost tastes good.

I have learned a bunch of things this week. That I'm really good at fooling myself. How you change forever when someone dies. That there's a reason grief is called pain. That violent, unexpected death leaves more questions than it answers. That I am not who I thought I was, in some sense.

At first I was conflicted.  I felt like my grief was counterfeit.  Why should I be so upset?  He wasn't MY friend. 

Well, scratch that, yes he was. 

He was my oldest friend.  He was closer to me than anyone for the 2 years he lived with us.  I was closer to him.  Yes, I kicked him out of my life, but that was for his own good as well as mine.  But did I ever think of that?  Did I ever think of him as my friend.  Not really.  Not ever.  Until yesterday.  But I suppose I should have.

And I realize that I haven't healed from that last night when it all went to hell between us.  I thought I had moved on, that I could accept his apology someday and love him still from afar and wish nothing but good for him.  Yes, absolutely I could, and did, and still do.  But the wound was still raw, and now it's ripped open.

I have been hiding things in my mind.  Intentionally forgetting. Me.  Brain girl.  For the last 6 days there's always another memory welling up, a thought, a song, a movie quote.  Every day things have old associations that they haven't in years and it's all fresh again, how much it hurts.

I had forgotten how much of my life has him in it.

But I am dealing with it.  I'm scared to go to the service.  To see his family.  To hear again their words from that week.  The accusations and hurt.  I don't want to cause them any more hurt by reminding them of what he did to me.  I don't want to feel like I'm not wanted.

But I need to see his face.  To touch his hand and give him my last gift.  No one is going to stop that, though I'm scared to do that, too. 

He's the only person I know of who managed to blow his brains out in such a way that they can have an open casket.

Bastard.  He's still fucking with us.  He wins again. But then again, when didn't he get one over on us if he wanted to badly enough?

The story is all over the papers in the small town where it happened.  There's even pictures.  Not of him, just the place. The obituary was in yesterday's paper.  The autopsy is done, the service is planned.  They flew him home the last time.

It's ending.  I wish it wouldn't.  I don't want the story to end here.

Posted by caltechgirl at February 25, 2010 07:23 PM | TrackBack

Oh God, sweetie. I have nothing smart to say. Please know I love you and I'm sending you all my love and hugs.

Posted by: Margi at February 26, 2010 10:55 AM

I, too, have no words of wisdom to offer. Hang in there...I'll be thinking of you.

Posted by: Theresa at February 26, 2010 11:02 AM

Mate, glad to hear you are sleeping and eating again. Been thinking of you, hope the service goes ok. *hug*

Posted by: Amanda at February 26, 2010 01:02 PM

Kudos to you for going to the service...those things are for the living, not for the dead. A final good-bye that sounds like you really need to give. God bless.

Posted by: Mrs. Who at February 27, 2010 11:27 AM

Ya'll are still in my prayers.

Posted by: vw bug at February 28, 2010 04:04 AM

..... I am sorry that you lost your old friend........ my condolences....

Posted by: Eric at March 16, 2010 05:35 PM