I saw someone who looks just like you did yesterday.  Now I am obsessed with their life. What are they like? Do they share the same interests? I want to know more.

Yesterday, as I stood at your grave, I had nothing to say.
I probably wouldn't have been there if I wasn't just passing by.
Ten years of you being gone is not a celebration.

I've had a writer's block of something I think about every single day.
You could say I was "over it", but the truth is, I am in a different phase of grief.

One year after your death I was scared.  "This can't be my life"

Five years after your death - I was angry. "Why us?"

Ten years after your death - I realize you will forever hold a place in my heart. "Life goes on". 

Grief is such a personal thing:
No one can tell you how to grieve.
No one can tell you how long to grieve.
No one can tell you who or what you can grieve.
It just happens.

I have lived that day over and over in my mind for ten years now.  You were fine and then you were gone. 


There is no end to this story. It never ends, we live it every day. It only evolves. Ten years later, from a time when I couldn't imagine a life without you, I find myself can't imaging life with you. We have become our own little unit. We have found our footing and are just living life - missing you, of course, but not needing you.

This was the hardest remembrance post I have written. I have no words left. For now I will leave you with the ten things I will forever remember about you:

1. Your confidence.  You had a beautiful quality of not caring what people thought.
2. Your facial hair.  You spent more time on your facial hair than I ever thought was possible.  I acted annoyed, but I loved your pride.
3. You were an amazing friend.  You were so loyal. You were a forever friend to everyone you met.
4. You made me feel beautiful. All the time. 
5. You could make anyone laugh. 
6. You loved surprising people.
7. You were so good. You just always knew what to do.
8. You were organized.  Not an annoying organized, you just always had a good place to put things. 
9. The way your hair curled over your baseball hats. 
10. You cared about me more than I ever deserved. I know that sounds dramatic, but I was a brat. I really was. You made me realize how to be a part of a family and to love. 

 I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end
The way it all would go
Our lives
Are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss
The dance

-Garth Brooks, "The Dance"

It says: "when I was 4 my dad died"

I ran out of pictures of us.
I remember one time someone took a picture of us.
I was wearing jeans that made me look skinny.
We were content.

Somehow I lost that picture.
I have it in my mind, but I can never share it with anyone else.
Now that I have exhausted all photos of us, I really miss that image.

Eight years.
Hard to imagine. 
These days I'm more afraid than I am sad.
I don't really know how to feel.


A simple glance across a room and I could see love. I felt safe. I knew what you were thinking.
Glances like that are scarce.
I don't expect to ever find that sort of allure again.

After eight years, I think I can confidently say that we are going to be alright.
Life goes on.
Even though it's a scary ride, we are enduring this crazy little life.

Grief is a funny thing.
Unfortunately it's not a haha funny.
EVILBOY and I go back and forth with our grieving.
Just as one of us is starting to smile, something triggers the other and it begins all over again.

EVILBOY is just shy of nine years old.
We lost his father when he was only 15 months old.
He never got the chance to know his father.
He missed out on so many things that R. wanted to do with him

Last night was a bad night.
The tears.
They are messy and hastily slighted by their owner.
He tries to be strong.

"I wish my dad was here" was all he managed to get out between gasps.
And I just knew that the night would be long and would entail his size 4.5 feet, sharing my double bed and kicking me in the back.
...and that it did.

He's had it rough these past few weeks.
At a time when he should be celebrating his absolute favourite holiday with the family we rarely get to see.
He spent most of the time in our dim apartment taking care of his ill mother.
That makes me feel like shit.
It is absolutely not fair.

Last night we made elaborate plans that included DVD shopping and the best hot chocolate in the whole wide world. We also made plans to visit the cemetery.

In my mind it would have been so easy to find his flat stone under what seemed like a foot of snow. I pictured us closing our eyes and automatically drawn to his location. Although sometimes life has a funny way of kicking you in the crotch and reminding you that life is definitely not a fairy tale.

I was angry.
I was so incredibly angry at R. for not giving us a sign (even in the afterlife the guy gets nagged).
I was angry at myself for not knowing.
I was angry at EVILBOY because I knew he was in the wrong area.
I was angry at the snow and the cemetery caretaker and the windchill and the loud traffic...
It was very overwhelming.

I don't know how to help him.
I don't know how to help myself.
We've done the support group - twice.
and as stupid as this sounds - I never expected it to be this hard.

Being a parent shouldn't be this hard.
It's just not fair.

R.,

It has now been seven years. Someone asked me how long you had been gone for the other day and I very confidently answered eight years.  When I thought about it some more, I realized it has only just been seven as of this very moment.  Somehow I lost a year of grieving somewhere I guess. 

I was thinking about writing this letter a few days ago.  These are getting harder and harder for me to write.  Memories of you are becoming distant and each year so as I write these letters I feel like I am just saying the same things over and over.  Still miss you.  M. has grown so much this year... It's almost like a telephone call to an old friend now - as sad as that seems.

The truth is, I feel like since you've been gone, I have completely glamorized our life together.  We were like the "Brangelina" of the Cancer Clinic.  You with your young, sickly swagger and me the young girlfriend who looked at you like you were Zeus god of all gods. How much your friends loved you. The love you had for, well, everything. The way you used to pay our bills every month..$70 to this company and $80 to this company just to tide them over until the next overdue bill.  I find myself in similar situations lately, yet when you were here with me, it was so much easier to face. Just knowing I could look over my shoulder and you were there to back me up meant the world to me.

I wish I could still see you there.  Cheering us on.

Our little boy is not very little anymore.  I know if you were still alive, this would be the point where I begged you to have another child because I can't stand to watch our only child grow up into an independent little being. He asks about you all the time. He cries about you all the time....and he won't cut his hair because he wants to look like a Power Ranger.  Oh, and get this, he bought himself a Rolling Stones poster to put on his bedroom wall!  Our eight year old is turning out to be the quirkiest kid I know, reminds me so much of us! 

Miss you forever. 

-n.

It has almost been seven years since we've said goodbye.  Just like that, the only person to ever understand me, or love me for being myself was gone - in an instant.

For over six years now I have been surviving - without my best friend.
I think this kind of makes me an expert or something.  An expert in surviving.
Not like surviving the wilderness or anything, please don't turn to me for that kind of advice.
I am an expert in surviving grief.
...and that is a pretty awesome title to have.
Something to be proud of. 

The other night my expertise was tested when I received a late night phone call.
R.'s cousin died last summer.  She was not very old. It was very tragic.  Very sudden and unexpected after a short illness.

She was a great woman.  She was the kind of person that loved everybody and would do anything for you.
and she truly cared.

The phone call was from the mother of this woman and it came as one of my evening television programs was coming on TV.  In other words, it was a bad time to catch me for a deep conversation.  Not to mention, my phone has had horrible reception in my apartment lately, oh and also - I hate talking on the phone!!

As I was saying, I didn't want a phone call.  I wanted to be left alone where I could curl up in my new Snuggie and watch trashy TV, but she was distraught and I could tell my expertise was needed.

Her daughter's husband has a new girlfriend.

To be honest, I do feel he has moved on pretty quickly, and I do agree with the mother, and I think she was looking for someone to be on her side.

But the truth is, everybody grieves differently.  If he has moved on, good for him.  I'm not sure it's a very healthy thing to do so soon, but if he is able to then, well, good for him.

R. told me - just once - that I should find somebody else that makes me happy after he's gone.  We didn't speak much about death, it wasn't an easy subject to speak of in our house since none of us wanted to believe it was going to happen.

Almost eight years later and my heart is still with him.  I would have done anything for that man, as he would have done anything for me.  It's hard for me to imagine anyone else could even compare. I have him up on an imaginary pedestal, made of pink sparkles and Hello Kitty stickers (which is a pretty amazing pedestal in my eyes). 

but I will let you in on a little secret...

I am terrified to even think about anybody else.  I know it's the right thing to do, I know it would make me a happier person to be in love again, but what if nobody loves me for the things R. could accept about me? My insecurities were hardly a worry when I was with him.  He made me feel confident and just so - happy.

So if her husband was able to find that love again so quickly - if he had the courage to move on...good for him!