Cocoon of Chaos

Food as Medicine

For as long as I can remember, I've had a love-hate relationship with food. I love to eat good food, indulge in the gifts of my husband's amazing kitchen skills, but unfortunately, my digestive system  does not share my love for such pleasures. I was the kid at sleepovers dying of heartburn after a slice of pizza or sick to my stomach after a cupcake. My system has just never quite worked right. Ironically, the only time I've ever been free of gut pain is during pregnancy. I could (and did) eat anything because I had never had such epicurean freedom. Post-partum is an entirely different story, of which this story begins. After having each of my children, I was put on a very strict no dairy, no soy, no gluten diet because my system was on overload trying to feed the babies and keep myself functioning. It was agonizingly hard, but at that time, Devin worked at Whole Foods and our access to a variety of elimination friendly food was endless. Fast forward ten years and I found myself at the doctors too much for intestinal issues. I've been tested for every kind of food allergy and nothing comes up; however, I am extremely sensitive to gluten, dairy, and cabbages. My doctor sat me down and suggested not another elimination diet, but rather a lifestyle switch, beginning with a full month body cleanse. No added sugar, no added salt, no grains, no alcohol, and no dairy. Now, let me tell you, I went into this with reservations because giving up dairy is not an easy thing. My husband, after all, is a cheese man. Cheese pays our mortgage, puts food on the table, and is one of our favorite foods. And the alcohol. I am not dependent on it, by any means, I rarely have more than a glass, but it is part of our nightly meals, just like bread might be for other families. But, I knew in my heart (and stomach), I had to do this. 

One major reason I had to was the relation to my mood and food. Gluten makes me grumpy. I know it sounds weird, but it effects my mental well-being and right now, the grief is enough to juggle on it's own, never mind any other mood altering triggers. There is a ton of research done on this, as I was a bit skeptical when I was talking to my doctor about depression rearing it's persistent head a bit more than I'm comfortable with, and I can honestly say, not eating gluten, dairy, and/or processed foods has nearly diminished this problem. Now, I'm not going to lie, this is tough sh**. The first two days of this cleanse, my body went into major sugar withdraws. I mean major. Aching headaches, sick stomach, and voracious cravings. Although my body wanted just a nibble of Halloween candy, my will was--surprisingly--resolute. We (because my husband is amazingly supportive and doing this with me) are two weeks in and I feel like a million bucks. Seriously. I've cheated a few times, a glass of wine with friends one night, Thai food (all gluten free!) with family another night, but I'm okay with it because my body isn't working on overdrive to survive. Yes, the box of cheeze-its call my name sometimes, always whispers at night when I'm convincing myself the almond butter, banana, and coconut mash up is a divine dessert, but all in all, I've never felt better. It's not about losing weight for me, I've accepted that my body has changed from the svelt 125 lb 25 year old, and I'm good in my skin right now. I'm finding as I get older, I ignore the numbers on the scale, but gage how I feel as a whole person. When I'm overly sad, I eat badly; it's a hard process but I'm channelling that desire to transform into sitting in the sad, rather than distract it with crap food. Sometimes that means with a book, other times it is on my yoga mat. I've spent a lot of time taking care of others and I'm now focused more on taking care of me. It's a hard thing, as it really is not a supported notion for us women, but I'm demanding better for myself, starting with my grocery cart. 

 

You are Here

Fate or desire, whatever you may call it, brought me to J.Crew the other day. I was browsing the clearance racks and this sweater was bundled up on the floor. I'm not sure if it was the years of retail I worked or my OCD, but I grabbed it and put it back on the hanger. It was not until I put this back amongst it's cashmere counterparts that I realized what it said. I stared at it for a good minute and decided, no matter what it cost, it belonged in my closet. Simply because, I am here.

Navigating life without a huge part of it is tough, murky, and so very difficult. There are days that are stagnant. Time seems to freeze, caught in a memory, a thought, an intense desire for one more moment. Just one more. But that one more moment will never be enough, ever, because on the other side of that moment is reality. The reality of this life without my little brother, my little protege, everything I ever imagined in one person. I know it sounds dramatic, but really, he was just that. He was freaking amazing.

But all this longing gets nowhere. Its just more tears, more anger, more emptiness. It sounds silly, but I'm hanging on to little gifts that come way, like this cashmere sweater at J.Crew to remind me that I am here. I AM HERE! It is up to me to live, to carry on, to continue to love, and some days, to cry. I've said it before but I'm not alone in this grief. I told the mister the other night that I feel like our family is under this tent of sadness. We're afraid to leave it because in some strange way, we lose Andrew. But, how silly, right?! Now, more than ever, we must step out of that tent and live. We are here. We are forever changed by this, no doubt about it. At dinner the other night, the kids were a mess and we all decided that we will forever carry a dark spot in our heart, but it is very small. That dark spot is a stamp of how much we loved Andrew, but how we move on and choose to live life as we want to is a greater mark than that stamp. It is a constant reverie to his life. We are here. We have each other. We will make it. I know this for sure. I know my kids will never be the same but I also know Andrew's life was a brighter beacon than his death. I know they, too, will find what they need, even if it is on the floor of J.Crew.

Date in the woods

 

 

I love dates, not the fruit, but the thing the mister and I used to do a lot pre-kiddos. In the beginning of parenting, dates were a big deal that involved big preparations, new outfits, and hefty babysitting and cocktail bills. However, as time has gone on, we've learned as much as we still love getting all dapper and heading out, it is nice to replace my heels with boots and head to the woods. It's not where we're going that matters so much, but rather who are with. 

So, today started with us making a nice breakfast at home, reading in blissful silence for 30 minutes, then heading out to the woods. A light dust of snow speckled the ground and it was just so lovely, so splendidly silent and serene. A nice recharge that we needed so very much. 

I happened upon an Instagram feed, called Unboxed, a service that sends you a monthly box of date night activities to keep the spark, the spontaneity and the fun in dating. I loved this idea but also knew I'd enjoy my ideas better than what comes in a box. This idea has really inspired me to think outside of the box in planning dates. I have a date night category on this blog o'mine and am committed to blogging two different date ideas a month. If you're interested, curious, whatever, hit the subscribe button! Have a wonderful weekend, my friends.

 

Digging Our Married Selves Out of a Rut

For Devin and I, the past three weeks have been all about survival, doing what we could during the day to keep things as "normal" as possible while managing the kids' grief and life in general. Our nights, well, our nights have been awful. Most nights we start by talking about our worries, concerns, and plans on how to do life without my brother, especially in regards to the kids. A few nights have been filled with tears, shouts, and guttural groans on how much this sucks, as both parents and individuals. To be honest, we've fallen into this pit of grief. We have slept in our bed one night out of the past 2o something because it is just easier to fall asleep to the mind numbing television than read and try to fall asleep in our bed. Sleep does not come easy and it is restless. However, we both know this pattern is not going to help anything, it is just making things worse and we like each other a whole lot, so we know we have to do something. 

To start, Devin is taking one day a week off so we can spend time together, sans the children. We need to reconnect, rehash, and release what is eating a hole in our hearts. We don't know how this will go, we do know it will be hard, but I'm not sure anything has ever really been easy in the 18 years we've been together. I dote a lot about my husband, I know this, but I would not be half the person I am without him. We found each other when we were so young and so different, but one thing we shared in common was the desire to be the best we could be and live life fully, no matter how hard or how scary that would be. I never imagined we would be living this nightmare right now, nor did I expect us to be so divided by our grief. We are complete opposites, me needing to retreat into myself, my husband the opposite and it can be tricky. We've committed to this struggle but it will not ruin us. We will slowly dig ourselves out of this, one pebble at a time.

 

Refusing to Let Go

I found myself in the library stacks the other day perusing grieving books, mostly how to deal with my own grief and that of my children's, and one title caught my eye, The Language of Letting Go. Back in my college days in San Francisco, I worked in a book store and this title was a very popular seller. I remember picking it up on a slow night and reading it and really liking the perspective of letting go and moving on when someone passes. However, seeing this book the other day, pained me. I did not open it, and this really isn't about that book, but rather, why I refuse to let go of my little brother. Some say it may be unhealthy for me to think this way but let me explain.

I refuse to let this boy go because he was the first chance I had at giving and receiving unconditional love, outside that of my parents, of course. I can remember the exact moment my dad told me I was having a brother: I was on a city bus in San Francisco with Devin headed to our favorite cheap book store. I was both nervous and elated, as I was 19 and never had a sibling. And then, I met the little red headed guy and my entire world changed. I fell head over heels in love with him and promised to be the best sister I could be, no matter our age difference. 

As time went on, I just could not contain how much I loved him. He was so stinking cute, vivacious, and would do anything for a laugh. He loved Thomas the Train, a cartoon I loathe, but I watched endless hours of it with him by my side. I laid on the floor pushing Matchbox cars along the carpet, watched Toy Story at least 100 times, and tickled him until my stomach hurt from laughing. Being around him made me so damn happy and that never changed, even as he became an opinionated teenager who bristled at my hugs. 

The thing is this: I cannot let go of him. It is virtually impossible to imagine my life without some of him in it, even if it is in the foggy presence of dreams. Bea has had a hard time falling asleep because she is so angry at why he was taken and not some other horrible person. (Valid point.) However, she looks forward to sleep every night because she tells us most nights, Andrew is in her dreams. Some nights, it is happy, others not so much. She asked me the other day if it was okay that she held onto him because it just hurts too much not to, she heard somewhere that in order to move forward, it was important to let go of him. I told her (and myself) that no one can tell her how to feel or how to grieve right now, that we all must do what feels right. We wiped our tears and she said, "Well, then, I'm never letting go. I know he's not here, but I also know he kind of is in my dreams and in my memories." This little lady of mine took all of my confusion, the hours I've sat here trying to write this, and pounded it out in one sentence. This grieving business is agonizing, exhausting, but also, we're learning to find beauty in how much we love each other as a family. Every night at the dinner table, someone needs to talk about how much they miss Andrew or a memory they want to share or a question they might have; it is easy to shirk away in pain, but I just cannot do that to my children. Yes, a majority of the time, dinner is filled with tears, but more importantly, we end in hugs and laughter. As much pain as Andrew's death has brought, we're gifted with the interminable love we have for him, and that keeps him alive for us. It is a fine balance of desperately holding on to the love and slowly letting go, not of him, but of the pain. The picture below is my very favorite of him and I and I can't help but smile at how our roles have changed: I used to scoop him up, carry him but now, on the darkest of days, his life, his memory lifts me when I just want to crumble. My sweet boy, I will forever carry you with me. We all will...

 

Morning Walk

Alone in the woods
Silence is my company
My steps joined by you.

A Day at a Time

 

 

The above picture is my point of view on most days...from the couch. It has been a tough 15 days, to be honest, the hardest of my life. Death and its aftermath sucks. Grief is unpredictable, inconsistent, and oftentimes, intolerable. Just when I think it is going to be a good day, I see a picture, hear a song, or have a crying child who misses their uncle that catapults me right back. I'm learning to be patient with this process and to go with it as it comes. This is a process, let me tell you, I'm a bit of an over-planner and this necessary patience is a daily battle for me. But, it is my only choice.

The only thing holding me together is this clan of mine. My kids are incredibly caring little human beings. I'm finding notes around the house, they are sharing funny memories of my little brother that bring sunshine into my day, and they are honestly and openly talking about this loss. Because, my grief is one thing, a daily fight, but I also must make room for their processes. Each of them deal with things differently, based on their age and personality and this is more than true right now. Oliver is needy, scared to be alone, and asks me everyday if I'm sure Andrew won't be back to have pizza on Friday night. Pippa is missing him fiercely but channeling her emotions into determination and drive on the soccer field. She started a new soccer league this week that is so challenging and rewarding--could not have happened at a better time. Bea, on the other hand, is my sensitive thinker. She knows exactly when to give me a hug and is viewing this process in a very unique way. She told me the other day that she knows Andrew is gone, but she feels him with her. So much so, my brave girl overcame some serious fear and anxiety and tried out for a solo in her fifth grade play, something she was adamant about not doing before all of this.  I'm not going to lie, it is hard as hell to mother grieving children whilst grieving. 

I had to make the very hard choice to take a leave of absence from work for a few months. This was not an easy decision for me. I love what I do so very much. Working with children everyday is truly a gift, but I'm not good at doing things half ass. I knew, based on the two huge losses in my life this year, I would not be able to give my little ones my all. They deserve all of me, my children deserve all of me, my husband deserves all of me, and I deserve all of me right now. I miss work terribly and would love to say that I'm tackling some major house projects but, mostly, I'm laying on the couch. Some days with a book, some days with a box of tissues, some days in utter silence. I'm learning the only way to push through is to stop when my feet become concrete blocks, cry when I miss my brother, laugh when I think of a funny memory, scream when I'm angry, and fight my way through all of this, rather than running away and ignoring the complex emotions that arise. It's beyond difficult, there are moments I'm unpleasant, impatient, and nasty; however, we are all allowing each other to be those things with love and understanding. 

And this man of mine, I don't even know where to begin. We have been together for 18 years and I have never, ever seen him this upset. Devin loved my brother just as much as I did and they shared an incredibly special bond. This is not just a sibling loss for me, it is one for Devin as well. We are getting through the days, but our nights are full of tears, laughter, and talking, lots of talking. We avoid sleep, stay up too late, because we are both plagued with nightmares, and pay the costly price of sleep deprivation the days following. We are trying so very hard to be patient with each other, to support one another, and listen to one another as best as we can. Some days are wonderful, others horrid. It is hard to give when you feel empty, hard to hug when rage rests in your heart, and a struggle to stay strong when you want to crumble. But we all share this grief, none of us more or less, we all loved that boy with such intensity. He was a part of us and we are learning to live without him.

Bea woke up this morning and told us about her dream over breakfast, "I saw Andrew. He came to me and I gave him a hug. And then, he vanished. He just vanished and it just makes me so sad. But he still came and I still hugged him. I'm sad but it felt so good to hug and see him, even if it is the last time." As I fell into a pool of tears over toast, she hugged me so hard and for a brief moment, my little brother was there with us.

I'm not sure we will ever be the same, there is no way we can ever be, but we will get through this, we will find small slivers of light in this darkness...a day at a time.

A Note of Gratitude

These past 8 days have been some of the hardest of my life. The grief, the reality, the pain of my brother's death is wrecking me. I've been very good to myself and just allowing each moment to come as it may. Some are full of tears, others laughter, even more full of rage. I'm angry. This is not an emotion I do well with, so I'm forcing myself to sit in this anger and look for the bits of joy. And can I tell you, there are thousands of moments that have taken my breath away this week. My house is chock full of beautiful bouquets sent from friends near and far. My fridge is stocked by friends whose kindness, thoughtfulness, and unwillingness to believe that I'm okay. My days are spotted with messages from so many people telline me what a great kid my brother was or how strong I am. It is very hard to find beauty in all of this tragedy but I'm telling you, the overabundance of love I'm feeling from so many people is the greatest gift of this hard time. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much for your generosity, your thoughts, your prayers, your messages, your flowers, your groceries, and your care and concern for me and my family. I am utterly flabbergasted and swimming in so much love right now, it is impossible to drown in this sadness. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I am not one that is okay with accepting help, and I'm working on this. All of you are making it so much easier to do so. There will never be adequate words to express my sincere gratitude.

A Eulogy for my Brother

A week ago today, my life forever changed when my 16 year old brother passed away suddenly. We held services yesterday and I wrote a eulogy for him, which many people have asked that I repost. So, here goes:

First, I would like to thank everyone for being here to today to celebrate Andrew’s life. The endless amount of love and support during this difficult time has been enormous in helping us put one foot in front of the other. We are eternally grateful.

 My name is Meg and I am Andrew’s oldest sister. As you can see, decades are between us but that never affected our relationship. I was 19 when Andrew was born and I fell in love with that little red head the moment I held him. My life was forever changed when he entered the world. I now had a forever sidekick. I had no idea how incredibly lucky I would be to get the creative, passionate, intelligent, and funny younger brother that I did but every day I thank my lucky stars.

 As the years went by, our bond only increased with each day. To say I love Andrew is a gross understatement. I adore him beyond words for the amazing young man he became. These past few days have been the hardest of my life. I cannot imagine my life without my little brother.  I keep waiting to wake up from this nightmare, to know that none of this really happened, that it was just a part of one of his movies. But, its not. This is not a written tragedy, but a real one.

 Andrew was not only my brother, but he was an amazing uncle to my children, Ava, Lillian and Oliver. He loved them fiercely and they looked up to him so very much. At the ripe age of 2, Oliver used to ask for the Kendrick Lamar CD every time we got into the car. Ava, like Andrew, is a creative spirit and I know his unabashed individuality will influence her forever. And, my Lillian, who is the carbon copy of Andrew, same freckles and all, is taking this the hardest. I’m not sure I will ever get over her screaming, I just want him back, Mummy over and over again. The last memory my children have of Andrew is him leaning against my front door, on his way out, and turning around, winking at them and in his angry German accent yelling, “Dammit, where are my driving gloves!” I could not ask for a better memory, they will forever remember his humor. My children will forever be changed by Andrew’s passing, but even more so, they will be even better because they called him uncle.

 Andrew was also an amazing brother not only to me, but to our sister, Andrea. He hated hearing the sound of cry and would give me precise instructions to make her happy. Andrea, we were so very lucky to have the time we did with him. He will forever be with us.

 In the silence of sleepless nights, I’ve searched for some meaning, some sense in all of this, but have found none. There is no justifying this loss, there is no reason in this, it was just a horrible, life altering accident. However, as much as we must embrace this loss, we must also celebrate Andrew’s life.  He was taken away much, much too soon--there is no doubt about that. However, we must look at the life he lived.

 Andrew, from a very young age, was an individual. He was never, ever afraid to be himself. I will never forget him arriving to my daughter’s second birthday party dressed in full costume as Jack Sparrow. It was not a costume party, my friends. He stayed in character the entire time. Or, the time he arrived at family Christmas wearing enormous red eyeglasses. He did not need glasses, but just liked the way they looked with his outfit. Because of Andrew, my son, will only wear skinny jeans, the brighter the color the better and has a love of rap music, at the age of four.

 Andrew was also passionate about his interests and his opinions. He loved a good argument and would go on and on until he proved it. He hated anything that seemed to him unjust, unfair, or just plain wrong.  Andrew’s moral compass was impressive and always filled my heart with pride. My husband and I used to tell him that someday, his voice would go due to his insistence and persistence. Funny thing is now we would do absolutely anything to hear his voice one more time.

 Andrew was an old soul. He was wise beyond his years. The conversations I had with him were not normal for a sixteen year old. He was thoughtful in a way most teenagers are not; he tried to understand the scope of so many things in life with such depth and meaning. We had him at our house two days before his passing, a day I’m holding onto for dear life, and he told me he decided to start reading Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle—what sixteen year old picks up that book for fun? Even in college, I read that book because I had to, not because I wanted to.  On that night, my husband, who had a very special bond with Andrew took him driving and he told Devin that he really loved Bob Seeger’s song, Still the Same.  My husband laughed, saying how in the world does one kid love Death Grips and Bob Seeger? But that was Andrew. He embraced things in life not because they were cool or popular, but because they meant something to him.

 Andrew loved music. He loved listening to it, making it, and exploring so many different genres.  Music was one of the many expressions of Andrew’s identity.  He was never afraid to try something new with music and was an astute critic. Personally, I am forever grateful to my husband, Devin, for the countless times Andrew said, “Devin, listen to this…” He would share one of his new beats, or a discovered musician, or a favorite song.  They would spend hours sitting in the kitchen listening to music and words cannot express the gratitude I have for my husband who never discouraged Andrew, but always, always embraced and encouraged him to be exactly who he wanted to be. Devin, thank you for loving him just as much as I do, he loved you back a million times more.

 Andrew was also a passionate writer. When he was in third grade, he wrote a poem about meeting my daughter Ava for the first time that I treasure. This love  of writing only grew as he did and began to combine with his other love, film. I can’t tell you how many scene ideas, character descriptions, and plot twists I’ve heard over the last six years.  As a writer myself, I could not be more proud of him for pursuing his passion.

 I can honestly say, I was given the perfect brother. I started 2014 by writing him a poem about turning 16. I used the matchbox cars we used to play with as a metaphor for his journey in life. I ended it with the line: “I can also guarantee that when you look in life’s rear view mirror, you will see my reflection. I will always be there”

 Writing that, I never imagined I would be closing 2014 by writing about his death.  Words cannot describe the excruciating pain, the choking anger, the utter heartbreak, and the empty hole I will forever have in my heart. However, it is up to me to move forward, knowing every step of the way, he is with me.

 So, today, let us celebrate Andrew, his fierce convictions to be no one but himself . Let his individuality inspire us to be our own people, follow our own dreams, and pursue our own passions. Let his life, not his death, be our beacon during these dark times. And please, be kind to each other, love each other, because life can indeed change forever in an instant.

 I want to end this with a short poem by e.e. cummings that expresses how I will move forward in all of this, it is simply really, I will forever carry him with me.

 

I carry your heart

(I carry it in my heart)

I am never without it

(Anywhere I go, you go, my dear)

 

 

A Final Farewell

 

 

 

 

I've avoided this space of mine for a couple of weeks because sometimes words get stuck in my throat when life is too raw. I found out that I will not be receiving Simon's ashes because I am not technically his "next of kin", although I am the beneficiary on everything and am the only person he has left. I've really struggled through this grieving process simply because the bureacratic mess it has become has left little time to do much else than plow through. However, finding out that I could not complete his final wishes, was the last straw for me.

To say these past couple of months have been hard is an utterly gross understatement. I've been dealing with deputies and lawyers and there has been little time to tend to the infectious wound of grief festering inside my heart. I finally had to accept the fact that there are some things in life, that no matter how hard you try, are just going to be unfair. This experience being just that. I am forever an optimist and after two good days of some serious gray days filled with sobs, I just let it all go. Releasing all that anger, frustration, regret and disappointment was very tough but also very cathartic.

I am, finally, at peace with all of this. It is not what I imagined, but it is the reality. I am never one to shirk away from strife, so I've accepted this and rather than focus on the negativity, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I called my mum and told her my idea of having an intimate, personal service on the beach for Simon. She agreed and the night before, insomnia and anxiety kept sleep at bay and I came up with something both meaningful to Simon, myself, and my mum. I gathered rocks on the beach and for every rock, I wrote something about him, and my mum and I silently stood on the beach.

A rock for the first time I met you, when I was 8 and you broke a tooth at dinner

A rock for the first time I left at Christmas time, in a limousine, your idea

A rock for the time I gave you a please stop smoking sign and you and Mum tried your best

A rock for the hours we spent driving on Sundays

A rock for the love, the support, and the spoiling of my mother and I

A rock for showing us both the meaning of true, unconditional love

A rock for the hundreds of lazy Sundays reading the paper

A rock for the time I procrastinated on my Science Fair project, you drove me all over town in one day, helped me with the presentation and was there shaking your head when I won first prize. You did love a good ironic story

A rock for the million of times I doubted myself in fear and insecurity and you pushed me, even when I cried, and was there to say I told you so when I beamed in completion and triumph

A rock for the million more times you told me I could do anything I put my mind to and the love to make me believe it

A rock for the times we went to get manicures together

A rock for your man purse, deemed “murse” by my husband

A rock for the Christmas dinners at the Ritz

A rock for teaching me to ride a bike, drive a car, and parallel park in San Francisco

A rock for teaching me, through your story and your parents story ,what sacrifice, determination, and faith really means

A rock for the time you handed me the keys to my first car, a 1986 VW Cabriolet and a new pair of sunglasses

A rock for the appreciation of music, of food, and of the arts

A rock for the pride that shone on your face when I graduated high school and the pain expressed when you dropped me off at college

A rock for the Sundays you came to visit me in college, the shared brunches, and the silent walks alongside the water

A rock for the relaxed way you twirled your curls, gently wrapped around your index finger and thumb

A rock for the love of fast cars you instilled in me

A rock for the time you bought me a hot wheels race track instead of a Barbie dollhouse like my friends, because you knew I wanted the race track more than the Barbie

A rock for the Friday night dinners at Peppino’s

A rock for your loud laugh, your sarcastic wit, and your aloof kindness to strangers

A rock for the countless times you handed a homeless person a dollar

A rock for the ritual bedtime send off “Bedtime for Bonzo” and the whisper of “Love you, Monkey”

A rock for the sorrow I felt watching you care for your ailing mother and the sad relief when she passed

A rock for the love that oozed through the phone when I called you when Ava was born, on your birthday, and the promise you made me make that I would never again buy you a birthday present

A rock for the moment you met Ava, the calm that swam over her when you held her, and the tears that streamed down your face

A rock for the bathrobe you owned as long as I knew you…and that you died in

A rock for the dance we shared at my wedding and your acceptance of such a hard decision

A rock for the love and appreciation of my husband

A rock for your adoration of the ocean

A rock for your Chicago memories, a city we visit yearly, this year, you will be right by my side

A rock for your intense political beliefs

A rock for the dresser drawer full of cards and letters I sent you, you never threw away a single one

A rock for the poems I found after you died

A rock for your love of dogs and our dog, whom you let me name Heineken

A rock that you two are enjoying a walk together, wherever you may be

A rock for the hope that you died in peace and knowing how much I loved you

A rock for the peace I’m slowly finding in this complicated situation

A rock for the intense love I feel every time I think of you

 

Lastly, a rock for the serenity to let you go because I know my desperate attempt to make sense of all of this is pointless. Life doesn’t make sense. It is like this beach, constantly changing with the high and low tides of life, made up of pebbles of pain, rocks of joy, shards of worn down memories like sea glass, and the bittersweet salty taste of sorrow. With my toes curled in the sand, reaching my heavy hands high in the air, I toss the rocks into the sea, where you would want to be, and with each rock, I say good-bye.  Simon, today my heart empties of sadness and I relinquish the pain, anger, regret, and frustration that surrounds your death.  Today, I celebrate your life and the life we shared together. Today, I hand you over to the sea.

 

 

 

Because, my friends, this was not just a loss for me, it was a loss for my mum. Despite years of separation, Simon and my mum still remained friends. He was a constant in our life, he shared in the happiest moments but also sheltered us in the darkest ones. I share this grief with my mum today. We stood on the beach, not sure how to even properly say good-bye. I had a song cued up, we plugged in our ear buds, listened to Sia's Burn the Pages, and cried.  When I opened my eyes, out on the horizon, there was a lone sailboat, slowly heading out to sea. This was my peace, my friends. Sail on, Simon.