The last 14 months have been tough as far as losing people. I lost my grandfather last February, a friend died in a hang gliding accident in June, a distant cousin died in December, my Aunty died a few days later and now the person I love most in the world has been gone for a month.
This most recent one is the one that’s hit me the most by far. I can’t even fathom how I’ll get over this or IF I’ll get over this. He was the same age as my main boss, which is a few years older than me. His parents outlived him, although his mother was ill. Even my parents are outliving him, although they live a completely unhealthy lifestyle. Granted, he smoked day in and day out when we were younger and drank heavily after our break-up. According to him, he’d given up smoking cold turkey and quit drinking hard alcohol 12-15 years ago. By then, the damage had already been done, though. On a daily basis I see people who require walkers, who have dementia, who are morbidly obese, who take forever to get from Point A to Point B, who live on the streets, etc. and I can’t believe that all of them have outlived him. I think about David Bowie, and other rock stars, who have done massive amounts of drugs and alcohol and had tons of unprotected sex, yet they survived into their 60’s and beyond. It doesn’t seem fair.
There are people who are angry, vengeful, mean, useless, hopeless and who don’t even want to live, but he’s the one who passed away. He was the sweetest, kindest man who never had a bad word to say about anyone, who never cursed and who constantly took care of others. Why was it his time?
What makes it worse for me is all of the comments from people that say “Are you still down in the dumps?,” “Cheer up!,” “Be happy” or “Time heals all wounds.” None of that makes me feel better. In fact, it makes me feel worse. If they don’t know who he was or what he meant to me, I’d rather they didn’t say anything at all. People seem to think that I should have a limited mourning period, then be over it. They obviously don’t know how deeply I loved him.
I still cry every day, several times a day. It’s the hardest for me in the morning when I remember how I used to kiss him goodbye when I’d leave for work, followed by kissing my Chow Chow on the top of his nose. Not that I’ve ever slept well in San Francisco, but it’s even worse now. I wake up even more frequently, always thinking of him, always wanting him.
The regrets are many. Why didn’t I get back with him earlier? Why didn’t I try to find him earlier? Why didn’t I call him a few months ago? Why didn’t I send him more messages in February? Why didn’t I tell him that I’d be there in October?
I can blame other people as well. Why didn’t any of my friends or his friends tell me how much he suffered when we broke up? Why didn’t his friends or family tell me after he’d been in the hospital 7-10 days? When I was in Hawaii, if the doctor had said that he probably wouldn’t survive, why didn’t they tell me then so that I could have flown there immediately? I was under the mistaken impression that he was stabilized and getting better.
I just don’t know how to deal with this. I’d give anything to have more time with him or even just to see his smile. I just can’t emphasize enough how little time we actually have in comparison to how much time we THINK we have.