When Grief Visits

Dear L,

Today, I cried. No, I sobbed. Thick-throated, wet sobbing. I read all the #flyfreedearzane.  At first I thought I was crying for Zane, or for Alyssa, and definitely Joey. Then I realized I was mostly crying for you. I was crying for your pain, for your hurt, for the terrible, terrible life you were lotteried.

You died alone. You died after a childhood no one should have. You died after losing your first born. You died after being raped. You died after being humiliated. Drunk. Drugged. Despised. Hurt. Abandoned. Used.

You died alone. No one was holding your hand. Remembering good times. Discussing your wishes. Loving you.

You died alone.

I can barely tolerate to think of the end. The years long end. Especially the last six months end. The overwhelming hurt, the isolation that comes with burning every bridge in the city. The overwhelming hurt, the isolation that comes with torn childhoods.  The overwhelming hurt, the isolation that comes with addiction. Self-hate. Unclear thinking. Poor choices. Mind spinning out of control impulsive needs. 

If only I could have been a better person. If I had snuck into the detox center. Laid in bed with you. Talked as we did at 13 when we thought we could beat our childhood abuse, when we believed we could be something, when we thought we had control of our destiny.  When we used to talk about G-d. The Universe. And Love.

If only I could have been a better person. If I had snuck into the detox center. Laid in bed with you. Held you close. Let you know you were loved. I know it would not have made a difference. By this time, you already knew you were leaving us. You already didn't believe. You already had cut that part of you away, that part that can function, accept love, the part that can function, and change, the part that can function, and live.

You died alone.

When I think of it, I break down into thick-throated, wet sobbing.