I saw dead people. And they suck.
I have never been to an open casket funeral. That was the thing that first broke off a piece of my heart today and smashed it on the floor.
I went alone to the funeral, after at least an hour of outfit changes, which was strangely important to me. What would he want me to wear? I can't wear a retro dress with modern shoes. That would offend his thiftshop sensibilities. In the end i chose the perfect outfit. One that he would have been proud of.
Today was such a profound, life-changing day for me i don't think i can put it in words. But i need to try.
It is different going to a funeral for someone who killed themselves. Different for me.
There was lots of talk in eulogies of people being happy that he had ended his torment, that he had found a cure for the buzzing in his head. I listened to these people, breaking down in tears, grown men reduced to empty hearted vessels before their friend laying lifeless in a coffin. I cried so many tears. Tears for Jeremy, tears for my friends and the pain he had caused them, tears for myself – knowing that at so many points in time it could have been me up there in that wooden box. Tears of anger. I wanted to stand up and yell that it was not okay. He had not found a way to end his pain. He had ended his life. His pain is gone, but so are the fourty years of happiness he could have had in between. The children, the nieces, the friends, the unknown.
And there we all were. Insignificant. Sad and crying. It doesn't matter if it was 200 or 2,000 people. It is a tragedy. A life lost. A life he let go. And it makes me mad. It makes me jealous.
I have wanted to let go. Many times. And the fact that he did makes me not just sad, but envious. He didn't fight the fight.
He didn't tell everybody that it was possible. Beauty. In the midst of sadness. He let go of okay.
If he let's go, if we all let go. What is left. There is no beauty. There is no beauty without pain. No joy without sadness. No love without loss.
And here i am. On the cusp of spring. Listening to the frogs outside. Driving down the malahat through snow to a bright and sunny victoria day. And here i am. And i feel like this is all fucked up. My heart torn out and smashed on the ground in the most beautiful church on vancouver island just at that moment when i thought life could get better.
I saw dead people.
On my way to soccer on saturday i got a call from an old friend. When i left victoria i lost contact with most of my friends, but it never really bothered me. We would speak once or twice a year and it was always nice and comfortable. They were and are the kind of friends that always remain a part of your life. The memories of time spent more ingrained than distance between conversations.
The same way it can feel when you speak with your best friend from elementary school after not talking for decades. Time just sort of melts away. There is still that sense of family, that sense of love.
My friend called to tell me that my friend Jeremy had killed himself. He said it casually, apologizing. There's no easy way to say something like that. I appreciated the brevity. We spoke for a few moments. He told me about the service on tuesday at Alix Goolden Hall in Victoria.
I hadn't spoken to Jeremy in several years. But i will never forget him and he is someone i think of often.
In 1995 after i was married, before i was pregnant, after my nervous breakdown and suicide attempts i was going through a small rough patch. More a fear that it would never get better for me. Wondering how i could ever be a good wife.
Jeremy was a doorman, well more than that – him and my two other best friends in the world at the time were local promoters in victoria – and i was at a show. I think it was some early incarnation of Hot Hot Heat. Anyway, the bar was quiet and i was there alone and feeling sad. After the bar closed Jeremy and i sat talking for hours. I poured out my heart and soul to him. I told him all the things i hadn't told anyone. How scared i was of life.
He listened. He offered me the best advice i've ever had. He understood everything i said. He had spent a lifetime of ups and downs.
We ended up driving around through the sunrise and i dropped him off in the dawn hours and he made me promise him that i would always be okay. I told him i would. He said sometimes okay is enough.
I am sad that he forgot that, or that he lost okay.
I've been thinking about when i was in miami in the fall.
Those are my birthday toes, complete with blogher blue nailpolish still on them. I really must pay more detail to personal grooming.
I have been very sick with the flu, general malaise. For the first time i can ever remember i have been able to sleep at the drop of a hat.
Sesame Street? Sleep time.
Big kids home to babysit? sleep time.
The moment i see shane's headlights in the driveway? sleep time.
I have been to bed before the kids twice this week. I slept from 4 till 9 tonight and i am ready to go back to bed.
I have listened in absolute jealousy as other grown-ups have come down with the plague-like flu taking over our school and have gone to bed for days on end. Yet, i have had to forge on, taking care of sick kids.
And i miss miami where i could sleep to my will's content.
This weekend is a weekend for sleeping.
Have a nice one. See you monday.
As is the way this time of year we have been fighting a particularly brutal stomach flu which turns into the hacking chest/sinus flu lasting two weeks. It has gone through tristan, parker, eliza, me, shane and now toby.
I went to bed at 7pm last night which, if you know me, is totally unusual. I was feeling crappy about feeling crappy.
At 10pm toby woke up crying that his tummy hurt. I brought him into my room whereupon he began an all night march which involved running to the bathroom every hour, crouching in front of the toilet for a few minutes, then returning to bed. Stomach still hurting. No relief.
Finally, at 7am just as i was standing naked about to get in the shower he came running in declaring "this is it mom!" and released the largest and most anticipated barf right into the toilet.
Then he marched downstairs, sat on the sofa and declared a sick day.
Poor boy.
I woke up this morning in a fog, thinking did i really write that last night? Are things really getting better for me?
And i looked at the clock. 7:47am. Shane? Gone. School starting in 33 minutes. Must feed four kids breakfast, make four lunches, makes sure all clothed and teeth brushed (screw the hair). Most important, and before any of that, must have coffee.
Close eyes for a moment.
Yes! I really wrote that and this doesn't stress me out at all. Who cares if we are a little late. Why not let the kids pack their lunches while i shower? Brilliant.
And so those 33 minutes passed peacefully, everybody helping or watching tv quietly and we were backing out of the driveway at 8:31. Arrived at school five minutes late. Happily.
Kisses and hugs for all.
Now, i'm not saying that things have changed overnight. I have struggled long and hard to come to a place where i even felt a tiny bit happy and okay in this world. Where i could force myself to smile inwardly, all the while hating myself for making this beautiful life so difficult.
And things will still be tough.
I have many burdens on my back, bad habits and old habits that i fall back on. I haven't really eaten for several days. The clonazepam does that to me. I haven't really noticed yet because i am using up my winter stores first.
But. But! It is valentines tomorrow and my marriage may be up and down and rocky, but i can tell you that i am deeply in love. And happy to have him.