Grief.

Posted on by Ali

I’ve heard people talk about the stages of grief before, and I’m pretty sure I studied the Kübler-Ross grief cycle in a college psychology course.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

I thought I would experience these in order; I thought that’s what this cycle meant. But for me, I can experience them all in one day. Or one for three days, and then another, out of order, for an hour, or maybe a week. I feel like I’m not in control of my brain anymore… to the point where I found myself googling “brain tumor symptoms” last night.  Yes– I have a history of mental illness, but I’ve certainly never felt like this before. It’s like my whole body is rebelling against me, and while the person I was before any of this happened is trying to claw her way to the surface, she is crushed by the weight of shock and grief every. single. time.

Some mornings, I wake up feeling like I’m two people at once. The physical me– brushing my teeth and getting ready for work– and the me that is in this constant dream-like state, living out the same morning, but in a different way. I don’t know how to describe that part of all of this. I wish I could though, because I’m desperate to talk to someone who can relate. It scares me, and I no longer have a best friend to work through it with me.

Then there are moments in the day that I think to myself, “if I just keep waiting, he’ll come back.” Or, “if I send this text, maybe he’ll answer today.”
I never send the text, but I think I’ll always be waiting for him to come back. There is a part of me that’s almost expecting him to. A few weeks ago, I had a dream that I ran into Dave at a gas station. With a big grin, he told me he was in witness protection. While it was nice to see him even if only in a dream, I wish I wouldn’t have. Because even though it’s irrational, that dream gave me some kind of false hope that I can’t seem to let go of.

And no one tells you that the “anger” part of this cycle doesn’t limit itself to just being angry that someone is dead. I’m angry at everything now. Restaurant waits, loud noises, slow drivers. Since the moment I found out he died, I wanted to do nothing but scream. I couldn’t though, and I still haven’t. Whenever I have a moment alone to do it… to let all of this rage escape my body… it’s like someone has stolen my voice. My grief counselor told me to let it out. She said it’s healthy, and I know it is, but no one understands that I physically can’t.

Lately it’s been manifesting itself in physical ways. Splitting headaches and blurry vision and a heart that beats out of my chest to the point where catching my breath seems impossible. I’m exhausted, because sorrow is exhausting.

I just want to talk about him forever. I want to tell someone every story and every feeling I ever had about him. I want to tell someone what an amazing person he was. But who would listen for that long?

I don’t know how to do this anymore.

 

The Fourteenth

Posted on by Ali

I’ve lost the little black notebook in which I chronicled the ups and downs of our years long relationship. It’s probably for the best.

I documented every emotional breakdown. Every dream, every nightmare. I saved bits of paper that meant something. Flower petals, perfume sample cards from Sephora, Metro cards and fortunes. It was as much a story of where I had been and who I used to be as it was of love.

I’m not sure where I left it. It was one of my few possessions which made it to Ohio with me when I moved back from the Carolinas. I made sure to bring it with me, only to haphazardly leave it sitting on a table in a coffee shop, or a bench in the park. I only realized it was gone last night, when I was feeling all of the feelings and wanted to write them down in a place no one else would ever see them.

I hope whoever found it read every word. That would make its loss a little easier to swallow– knowing someone else got to peek in through the window of happiness and anguish.  The window of what will forever be the best of times, even when they were the worst.

It’s time to start over.

The Eighth and the Ninth.

Posted on by Ali

You send me updates for events happening in a city I no longer live in, and I listen to the playlist I started making when we were in love and finished making when we weren’t.

I want you to be my wedding date, so I ask you. But the language is different and I think you think I’m joking. I’m not. Not even a little bit.

I’m not inviting you because I think we will fall in love again, or pick up where we left off. I’m just asking to share the same space with the only person who knows me inside and out.  I’m asking because I think you might need that too, and this is how we can love each other now.

I hope you’ll join me.

The Fourth.

Posted on by Ali

Sometimes a movie can sum up a feeling better than a blog post, so I leave you this from the movie “Her,” which is still one of my favorites. I’ve realized my life is a constant search to find this feeling again. I’m not sure if that’s a purpose I should be proud of, but I am anyway.

The Third.

Posted on by Ali

Someone left a kitten in the parking lot where I work.
She was skin and bones, and all alone.
They left her with two cans of food,
apparently thinking she would have no problem finding her own nourishment
once their generous supply ran out.
I loved her instantly.
I wanted nothing more than to protect her,
but she was afraid.

It took work to earn her trust.
Days of sitting in gravel, baking in the sun, befriending the bees.
I opened cans full of food that stank like tuna,
scattered them around the field, and sat quietly.
I didn’t watch her as she ate. One glance in her direction, and she would bolt
as far as her bony legs and sunken skin would take her.
Instead, I would look at the sky and sing,
or tell her about my day,
or sometimes just enjoy the quiet breeze with her.

I continued this ritual twice a day, every day.
Even when I was so exhausted all I wanted to do was crawl into bed
after a long day of work.
She wasn’t gaining weight, and I refused to give up on her.
In the meantime, I memorized her hideouts.
Took note of every hole in the fence. As if somehow I could protect her
by knowing where she would escape to.

After day four, she disappeared.
She didn’t show up to the scattered cans in the morning.
She didn’t touch the cleverly placed treats near the holes in the fence.
48 hours.
Nothing.
My heart sank. I mourned her absence.
My coworkers didn’t understand;
they used words like “feral” and “stray,”
but I knew differently.
I knew she depended on me, even if she didn’t like me.
I knew her world had been turned upside down.

She wasn’t born wild.

I tried to forget her, but I still found myself showing up to work early,
walking the grounds, checking each hole in the fence.
After three days without her, magic happened.
While walking through the dirt, sending all of my hope into the universe,
I heard the tiniest noise.

Then louder.

Closer.

And she appeared, from under rocks,
looking smaller than ever.
But I could see it on her face–
she knew me.
Ran to me.
She meowed as I sobbed,
and my clumsy fingers couldn’t open the cans of smelly food fast enough.
That was the day I became her person.
The day a cat who wasn’t born wild tamed a girl who was.

She is loved now.
Healthy.
And she knows she will never be hungry again.

The Second.

Posted on by Ali

Back then, I didn’t know anyone actually hated the smell of coffee.
Now, of course, I know plenty of people like that… but you were the first.
“It disgusts me,” you’d say.

You used that word so frequently– Disgust. Maybe it was the European part of you, but I thought it was strange. It was a word I reserved for only the worst of things, but you could be disgusted by anything; a frog, a shot of Jameson chased with pickle juice, an aggravating colleague, or the smell of coffee brewing.

So in the mornings of those precious months in which we shared the same bed, I drank chai tea. I learned to love it; even learned to look forward to the ritual of unplugging the coffee pot and tucking it away, because it meant you would be there.

I gave up coffee. I gave up so much, but I couldn’t give up everything. Neither could you.  There was resentment, and it grew. There were so many arguments and accusations, but I never drank coffee, and you never said I disgusted you.

You could have. And sometimes I think you should have,
but you didn’t.

I guess I just wanted to thank you for that.

 

Old Memories / New Fears

Posted on by Ali

It’s 4am, and you’ve gotten out of bed again. I listen to you tiptoe to the kitchen, where you rummage through the fridge and the soft light from the open door struggles to make its way down the dark hallway. This has become a ritual. 
When it’s dark again, I hear the familiar metallic clanking of silverware as you struggle to find a spoon; then silence. I contemplate pretending to go to the bathroom so I can catch a glimpse of you in your underwear, leaning against the kitchen counter with your favorite container of whipped cream. It is in this moment—when you are all legs and tired eyes and cool whip bliss— that I find you the most beautiful. 
I decide not to leave the bed. I know by now that you’ll be coming back soon, anyway. And with your sticky sweet mouth, you’ll kiss me like you haven’t seen me for years. And it is in that moment—when you never fail to wrap me up and pull me closer— that I feel the most beautiful. 

This will always be what I remember.
This will always be what I long for until I find it again.

 

But what if I don’t?

Born to Beg

Posted on by Ali

I’ve been having dreams of a woman I’ve never met.
With nine babies and a husband,
she says, “I’ll leave him for you.”

Just like that;
she’ll leave him
for me.

Isn’t it appropriate
That I would dream of what I’ve always wanted?
Someone else to work hard for me.
For once.
Someone else who would change everything they know,
just for me.

She takes my face in her hands, and I believe her.
I never say anything,
and I never give her an answer.
Because I know;
I can feel it in the depths of me–
she means it.
She doesn’t need to wait for me to make a plan for her life, too.

 

Casey

Posted on by Ali

Of all the characters I met in South Carolina, you were one of the only people I kept in touch with regularly when I left. Time would pass, but you would always check in on me. You were like a brother; we wanted nothing but the best for one another.

I didn’t know what to think of you when we first met, but I quickly learned something very important– you were funny. You were also as sarcastic as I was, and hated that job as much as I did. So that was our common bond. Cracking jokes, and bitching, and eventually talking about bigger things. Life, and love, and the things that we weren’t proud of. You saw me cry on more than one occasion over things that didn’t matter, and in turn you told me about your own struggles. We were hard on each other; honest. Only because we cared, in our weird way.

Remember when you refused to cook food for me because I told you I was trying to eat healthy and diet? Remember when I was having a bad day, so you finally gave in? When I came out to you, you took it in stride. You didn’t crack jokes like the other guys. Instead, you told me to do whatever it was that made me happy.

On my last day of work, you locked me in the walk in cooler and poured buckets of water and flour over my head. I knew what you were going through then, and it wasn’t easy. But you still kept me laughing. At my next job I missed you so much I asked you to come work with me. You were, hands down, the hardest worker there. I was proud to call you my friend.

I guess what I’m getting at by all of this is when I think about my time at the beach, a lot of it was really fucked up. And even though you were going through a ton of tough stuff yourself, you were always a rock for me. Someone I could count on. So today, when I found out you are gone, my heart broke. For you, and those three gorgeous boys of yours, and everyone else who was lucky enough to know you.

Everything you were going through is over. I don’t know what happens when we die, but I’d like to believe that you are happy. That you are at peace, and flashing that big goofy smile of yours.

Thank you for being my friend.