During the first horrendous months after the death of my life mate/soul mate/best friend, I was so incredibly lost that sometimes the only way I could deal with the confusion was to write a letter to him in an effort to feel connected. I still have episodes of sadness, but I haven’t experienced that total anguish in a long time. Still, I miss him, yearn to go home to him, worry about him. Although this letter was written two years ago, much of it holds true today.
It’s been a while since I’ve written, but I’ve been thinking about you. Are you glad you’re dead? You said you were ready to die, to be done with your suffering, yet at the very end you seemed reluctant to go.
Despite all the problems with your restlessness and the disorientation from the drugs, I wasn’t ready for you to leave me. I still am not. Nor do I want to go back to where we were that last year, waiting for you to die. We were both so miserable, but honestly, this is even worse. I can live without you. The problem is, I don’t want to, and I don’t see why I have to.
I want to come home. Please, can I come home? I have a good place to stay, but without you, I feel homeless. Sometimes I watch movies from your collection and imagine you’re watching with me, but that makes me cry because I know you’re not here. Your ashes are, but you’re not.
I broke a cup today, one more thing gone out of the life we shared. Our stuff is going to break, wear out, get used up. I’ll replace some of it, add new things, write new books, and it will dilute what we shared. Is there going to be anything left of “us”? I feel uncomfortable in this new skin, this new life, as if it’s not mine. As if I’m wearing clothes too big and too small all at the same time.
There’s so much I hate about your being gone — hate it for me and hate it for you. It might be easier if I knew you were glad to be dead, but so far you’ve been mum about your situation. Just one more thing to hate — the silence of the grave. (Well, the silence of the funerary urn.)
Adios, compadre. If you get a chance, let me know you’re okay.
Click here to download 20% free at Smashwords or to buy any ebook format, including Kindle.
Click here to buy Grief: The Great Yearning at a discount from Second Wind Publishing, LLC
Click here to find Grief: The Great Yearning in print or on Kindle from Amazon.
Click here to find Grief: The Great Yearning for the Nook