It is a year today since George was found dead of heart failure in his bed. Nobody is certain if he died before or after midnight. Rudy, his son, who was 18 at the time, had got up in the early hours and was going to check on his dad, but was worried about waking him, so he didn’t. Rudy’s still wracked with guilt over it, he wonders whether he would have been able to get help for George if he’d checked on him. I don’t think it would have made any difference. The farm is in a remote area, help takes a while to get out there, so even if he’d found George in difficulty, it would probably have been too late anyway. And how much worse would that have been for Rudy, if he’d had to watch his dad die.

I’m glad I’m at work today, I’m really busy, which is keeping my mind off the huge gaping abyss of grief.

The last year has shown me how important love is. And how unimportant most other things are. Example: my flat is affected by subsidence, the foundations are sinking due to tree roots. It’s really not that big a deal to me. Insurance will cover it, I’ll always have somewhere to live, even if my flat falls into a hole in the ground. I just don’t care enough about it to get worked up.

I feel as if I’ve been robbed of the ability to feel joy. I rarely listen to music these days, except as background in the bathroom or the car. George and I both loved music, and I can’t bear to listen to the music we both liked – the DBTs, Whiskeytown, Son Volt, Springsteen, Skynyrd – or to get any pleasure out of finding new music.

I’ve always been socially awkward, and to a large extent I’ve withdrawn from social events this last year. It’s just too hard to do sometimes, being with people. Vegas was a big turning point for me in the year, I had a lot of fun, a whole lot of fun. I need fun.

I’ve suffered from depression in the past and I know this is different – I don’t have that numbness that I’ve had when I’m depressed. Just the opposite, in fact, I feel things acutely.

But at the same time I hate being like this. I want to live life again, to laugh again and, most of all, to love again. I think Christmas will bring me some acceptance – I’m spending it with George’s family in Ohio. Christmas Day was his birthday, and I’ll be able to remember the day with people who knew and loved him too. There’s a new baby in the family, a reminder of the continuity of life.

One of the positives of the last year has been finding, via MeFi, this lovely place, and a whole new bunch of friends, many of whom I will never meet, but who I consider friends anyway, in that odd way only those of us with an online life can understand. I know there are people here who’ve been through enormous loss too.

You’ve helped me to learn to laugh again this year. Thank you bunnies.

Having met you in Vegas, you struck me as being grounded, calm. A quiet strength. Having been through all that you have and to still have maintained those strengths, I'm positive you'll continue to rise above this set of hardships to become again what you were, but stronger. Different, but better, ya know? :)

I remember the pictures of him you posted some time back, and my impression of "Yeah, he really does look like a nice guy."

What Zack said. You've always struck me as a very together, solid person and your willingess to bare your soul like this only backs up that impression. You'll pull through, and me and pips are here if you need us.

*hugs ej*

You nailed it when you wrote this:

The last year has shown me how important love is. And how unimportant most other things are.

Anyone who's ever lost someone can attest to this... it's just tragic that it usually takes us that kind of loss to come to this realization.

My hope for you is that the pain will eventually subside to the point that you can feel joy again, but that you'll also be able to hold on to that valuable insight: love (in all its forms) is the most important thing.

Eedge - I remember finding my mother gone years ago when I was eighteen and how disassociated I felt for weeks afterwards - dealing with school, with friends, with daily life. I just shut down - stayed in my room listening to the same two songs on my stereo for entire weeks.

But looking back, I am glad I went through the experience because it made me a better, deeper, and more empathetic person. Definitely stronger.

Grief is a hard hard thing, obsidian. But it's the only way to learn a higher level of living. I love that you are sharing yourself with all of us through your time with it. It's beautiful.

Hugs, EJ. You bless George, yourself, and the world with what you feel for him. Nothing is certain. Love and care are all we have. Please have this quote:

"And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course." - Kahlil Gibran

.

I feel things acutely

That's so much better than numbness, IMO.
Hang in there, EJ. You're in my thoughts today.

Kelly's death affected me in very much the same way. Yearly anniversaries of deaths are hard. I learned that this year. Spending them with people who knew and loved the person like you did helps a lot.

*hugs*

{essexjan}

I hope you find joy and happiness again, ej.

Jan, a while ago I was thinking about you, and I realized that I had an odd compliment to give you. Wasn't sure if it was appropriate, so I didn't post it at the time, but I will now.

The compliment is that I think you are very good at grieving.

I know that's an odd thing to compliment someone on, but in your case it's very true. We will all have to grieve; it's part of life. Everyone must find their own way through it. Sometimes the time of grieving goes badly; people can cut themselves off from support, become so angry it hurts them, or lapse (or re-lapse) into behaviors that are self-destructive. You've done none of those tings. You have built, rather than shrunk, your network of support. You have brought something important into the lives of others by reminding them to treasure their lives. You have bravely shared and worked through all the emotional passages involved in this first year, providing the world with some understanding of the challenges of grief and how to graciously overcome them by reaching out. You have remembered and memorialized your loved one beautifully. You have turned his loss into a reason to stay close to his family. What I'd wish for all of us is to have the kind of person in our lives who will grieve for us like you when we're gone; in such a loving, positive, strong, connected, and healthy manner.

Thank you all. I am overwhelmed.

halonine, that exact quote from The Prophet was read at George's memorial.

halonine, that exact quote from The Prophet was read at George's memorial.

It's kind of nice, isn't it, that sometimes synchronicity shines like a diamond like that. :D

essexjan,



Well. I just started and deleted a dozen sentences.

I read your discussion of the past year and thought how sane, how grounded, how immeasurably strong you sound.

After my first partner's death, I withdrew for a long while, and I found it an important part of adapting to a new understanding of my life. Has your withdrawal been at all beneficial?

You sound so strong, so centered and strong. It's quite impressive.

I'm really bad at stuff like this, so what I say is always clumsy in these situations.

Although I've seen a large nubmer of friends come to an early end and a few relatives have passed on after long lives, I can only imagine what it would be like to lose "the one". Losing any limb you care to name would be nothing compared to that for me. I have always admired the way you manage to balance your obvious grief with an underlying love of life and the knowledge that things will get better one day, no matter how far away that day may seem now.

Be strong and know that people out there care.

Just adding my voice to the chorus, jan. I have no deep words, but just want you to know I care.

Your words moved me to tears, and made me wish for a fast plane to hug you in person. I cannot put it better than Miko said, words aren't coming to me. I admire you for your strength and perseverence. We are always here for you.