Cathartic rambling
I've been putting this post off for 11 months. I still don't know that I want to post it, mostly because writing this is going to be hard. But I feel I need to. That's it part of the healing process, that I 'owe' myself this narrative.That I can't just let D be gone.
So, a small warning, this going to be long. I really don't expect you to read it, and I really don't mind if no one comments, because it's purpose is catharism. I hope. I considered turning comments off, and flocking this, and I still might, but hopefully be the end, you'll understand - understand why I need to tell you this story and why I've been absent from lj and writing for so long.
When I moved back home after my two year whirlwind experience in London, I met D. She was the Cape and had recently moved up to Jo'burg for work and she was unlike anyone else I had ever met. Bright, lively, full of life, a whirlygig of crazyness and randomness. She was my anthithesis. I am ordered, organised and on time. D was spontaneous, chaotic and chronically late. Our friendship was unlikely, but she shook me up, added spice and crazy to my life and I loved it. For two incredible years, I was late for movies, helped her move 3 times, babysat her dogs, giggled and laughed like a teenager and was enthralled by the maelstrom of her life. That was ten years ago.
Jo'burg however wasn't kind to D. And her choices didn't help. She ended up working an incredible idiotic job that was entirely commission based which meant she got into massive debt to pay her rent and car, etc, ended up with a manic roommate who sold her stuff to pay the Nigerians next door, and after two years, D decided to move back home. I completely understood, but I still cried when she left. On her road trip home, she hit a guinea fowl, which killed the radiator of her little car and she ended up having to leave the car in the middle of nowhere and continue the journey with her parents. My life calmed down without her, and I missed her terribly.
Over the next 6 years I visted her once or twice a year. She's the one I visited at the beach.... and her life had not gotten any saner. She worked at a vet, where she ended up adopting a township dog, hit a cow with her car, bought a scooter, crashed her scooter, nearly bought a house in the mountains, planned a thousand business ideas and worked three part time jobs. She challenged me to dream, to think beyond the here and now. She had health issues - i.e. fainting induced by emotion (cataplexy), and a passion for animals and life.
On one memorable trip she told me she wanted to go to Australia for two years as part of her vetinary qualification and work on a dairy farm for experience and to earn some money. I helped her make that possible and in February 2012 she left for Australia. I remember standing in the airport, crying, because I was convinced I would never see her again. That she'd meet some Aussie bloke, get married and never come back. I got a few crazy phonecalls from her at odd hours and she loved Australia. Loved her life there.
February 2013 she suprised me COMPLETELY (which she loved doing) by just showing up one day, on my doorstep as it were. She'd delayed sorting out her visa, too long, and had had to leave the country quickly. She fully planned on going back asap, she just needed to apply for a tourist visa, which she had to do from Cape Town. The plan was: two weeks in the Cape, get the visa, go back to Sydney.
After two weeks, no phone call, no confirmation of where she was. I phoned her and she was still happily in Cape Town. Very happily in Cape Town.... she'd met a guy and was madly in love. Someone she said was a handsome Sheldon Cooper. So, all her stuff, money and life back in Australia.... was forgotten. Left.
And in a way, so was I. It wasn't an Aussie who took her, kept her. I saw her in July of that year, on my now annual trip to her home town, and she was blissfully happy. I was too... for her. March 2014 I get a text message that she is getting married, in two weeks. Can I come? I alas, was flying out for my vacation the day after her wedding and I asked if it was possible for her to delay her wedding, just a little. Nope, it had to be then, which is when I figured she was pregnant. However, she didn't say anything and I apologised, and told her regretfully that I couldn't afford to fly down to Cape Town for one day and then fly out the next day again.
I could have. I probably should have. But I was a little pissed that she wasn't coming clean and that she sprung this on me so suddenly and expected me to just drop everything and come. I regret not going. I am aware that I was being passive aggressive and that I should have just confronted her and said it didn't matter if she was pregnant, but.... I didn't.
Alas, for me, April was the start of one of the bleakest, busiest times of my life. One of my subordinates at work went off sick mid-April. She was off sick for a week and during that week I found a WHOLE bunch of stuff she hadn't done. When J, the subordinate, sent me a sick note from a doctor booking her off for a month - for stress, I kinda flipped. My job was already crazy and now I had to add J's mess to it, to fix. I worked 18 hour days for a month. I got to work at 6.30, worked until 6.30, went home and then worked until 11 or 12. Sometimes 1. I worked Saturday all day. For a month.
When J came back, she told me was going to resign, and acted like nothing was wrong. I was in a really bad space. I was angry beyond belief, tired, stressed and furious. I told her that I was suspending her, that I had enough to fire her. She resigned on the spot and left. I probably would not have been able to fire her. Her mess was bad, but not bad enough to fire her. And now.... I had to replace her. I found the perfect candidate, a young intern who was already with the company, but she could only start working for me in August, Stupid, idiotic me.... I maintained that crazy work routine, 17 hour days, 6 days a week for June and July.
I should have told my boss that it was impossible. I should have refused.... but in that instance, it was a sign of failure, of giving up. So I stuck with it. I survived.
During July, D's sister in law contacted me. She invited me to D's baby shower. So it was official. Baby was now official. The hurt that D still had not bothered to tell me was sharp, and fierce. I toughed it out, told L that I would be there. And then I grew a pair and contacted D. She finally told me, apologised and confessed that she didn't know why she'd been so reluctant to tell me.
August bloomed - literally. Intern started, I got my life back and I planned to go to Cape Town to suprise D. Yep, my turn now, surprise her - as the babyshower was a surprise one. First weekend of September I flew down, stayed in a BnB and nervously waited to see her. It'd been more than a year. I hadn't really been able to be excited for her yet... I was still emotionally drained from work and life and well... here it was.
She walked into the room, suprised to see the party, happy and smiling. And when she saw me, she burst into tears. Her hug was fierce and tight, like she was trying to squeeze in all the apologies and love she could. I might have teared up too. It was a fantastic weekend. We caught up, chatted for hours, I felt her little boy kick, we laughed, we complained about life and ... it was good. Like it had always been. Like no time had passed. Even though her life was now permanently different and tied to Cape Town.
She made me lunch on Sunday and after a long afternoon chatting, I had to go. She come out to the car with me, to say goodbye. I left her standing under a group of lush, green trees, heavy with pregnancy, trred and happy.
Her baby was due in October and I promised that I come back and visit in October, once baby was there, once she was settled. She was having a tough pregnancy. Her liver was under pressure, and in all likelihood she would need a c-section. However, she did not have medical insurance and was relying on state healthcare.
I got the happy announcement that baby arrived early October after a long, difficult labour. The doctors intially insisted that she try natural labour and only after hours and hours, approved the C-section. Government efficiency at its best. But baby was healthy and hale. Mum was tired, but happy. I started planning my trip down to see them ... and meet D's husband for the first time (he'd been away on business in September when I visited).
Mid-October, L, D's sister-in-law sent me a message. D had had a stroke. She was in ICU, paralysed from the neck down.
I was numb. Frozen. Unable to process that.
S, her husband called me a few days later and told me the same thing. I thanked him and sent my love. He said not to come visit just yet, not until she was out of ICU.
It wasn't until her mother called me, a few days after that, that I broke down and started crying. There was no hope of D recovering. She would be paralysed for life. A clot had caused the stroke and it had affected the part of her brain that controlled motor-function. She would be on life support, blind to the world, frozen. She could hear though. And blink.
My friend was trapped. Trapped in a useless body, unable to hold her baby again. Unable to do anything.... ever again.
I cried a lot. I prayed a lot.
I lay awake at night, thinking about what it must be like, to be trapped in your own body. To only have sound as your sole contact with the world. To listen to your husbands voice. Was D railing against the unfairness of it all? Was she screaming, crying? Was she patient, holding out for a miracle.
I may have driven myself a little mad thinking about all of this.
I started re-reading Anne McCaffrey's brain ships series. If you don't know them, I recommend them. It was hard, reading those stories, but I think they offered my idiotic brain a little hope, a vesitage of sanity. I wanted D to have her own ship, so that she wasn't trapped in her body anymore, so she could sore amongst the stars. Free.
Stupid, huh?
News was slow. She wasn't improving dramatically, but she was eventually able to breath on her own. S, her husband called me a few more times, told me that they planned to move D to a private home once she was stable, so that she was closer to home. His mom was looking after baby. He spent all his time at the hospital. He'd made a play list for her, with songs and audio books.
I tried to be positive. I finished the brain ship series, and cried.
November flew by. It's crazy how life just rolls on. The world still turns, no matter the heartache and pain of a family. People live their lives, the sun rises, your heart keeps beating. I remember walking around the office, and at odd moments thinking, "D can't do this anymore. She may never be able to." My mind kept on running through our friendship. So much of my life for the past decade was entwined with hers. Places we'd been. Things we'd done. I'd drive around and think... we ate there. I'd see a friend and think... she liked him and hated his girlfriend. I couldn't seem to stop. I maybe didn't want to.
28 November I got a text message from a friend. "Thinking of you." I thought, ok ... cool. I replied, "Thanks". I was at our company's christmas function and thought nothing more of it. I went drove home and popped into the shops and got another message. "Hope you were able to go home early." Again I thought, 'ok'.... and replied, "No, but TGIF"
As I was walking out of the store... it hit me. The doubt, the fear, the suspicion. This friend did not usually send those kind of messages, so I checked Facebook, my heart pounding. It was the top line on my news feed. D's aunt posted: D passed away this morning.
I didn't want to cry, not in public, not in the middle of strangers. I went home. I didn't cry in the car, although it was hard. I waited until I got home, in the privacy of my room... and then... the floodgates opened. My friend was dead. I cried a lot that night. I'm crying now. It was only that evening that her mother emailed me and said that D died from complications related to pneunomia. I certainly don't blame any of them for not calling me earlier. Their grief was just as fresh, just as raw. I do however, fully plan to dislike her Aunt for the rest of my life. Yeah... pretty small of me, but I resent how I found out. *shrugs*.
Her funeral was the following Friday. In Cape Town of course. So... 9 months after I pissly refused to fly down for just one day to celebrate her wedding... I flew down for just one day to say goodbye. I took my mother with me, both because she loved D too, and for moral support. I met S for the first time. I cried... alot. I went to the graveside, said my goodbyes and cried my broken heart out.
Logically, I knew that she was free. Free from the cage that her body had become. Free from that hell. But her son was barely two months old. She'd been married for nine months. Her whole life was in front of her. Her son was going to grow up without her. I felt like my tears would never end. I kept returning to the last time I had seen her. Under the trees, full of life. Happy. And now, in a dusty grave.
On the flight home I cried some more, and my mum said that it would take time, but it would get better. And she was right. But right then, it was really really hard. I hated that people knew. That my grief wasn't private. Random people at church would come up, hug me and murmur cold words of comfort.
December and Christmas was... strange. I have a sister who lives in the UK and we don't really get on. Its better that she lives far away. But she decided to come out for Christmas and it made for an interesting time. However, aside from some of the usual family stuff, a couple of times she said some quite hurtful things to me. She's always had that ability, to really push my buttons, and more than likely, because my heart was still raw, her words pricked even more. I cried one night, angry at the tears and guilt ridden. I knew it was partly grief, and partly guilt. Grief that my friend, who I loved like a sister, who I loved more than this sister was gone. Wracked by guilt because I didn't love my sister as much and I wanted her to go home. I wanted D back.
2013 was a pretty rough year, but 2014 really took the cake. One of the worst years of my life. The other day, I sat make a list of all the good things in my life and I was quite pleasantly surprised to realise that 2015 so far, has been a pretty good year. And it felt wonderful to say that. As you know, I started a new job. Left the madness of the old company behind. One of my colleagues asked me at my farewell as to why I was 'really' leaving and I truthfully told him that it felt like I was closing a chapter. With D's death, and my resignation, a chapter was ending.
Subsquently I have been gratified to have confirmed that old company was really quite ridiculous with their expectations of me. The guy who replaced me is really struggling and still phones me (6 months later) and asks for help. In fact, more than just he phones me. I am truly missed. But I also realised that I let them do that to me. I allowed that abuse and over-work.
At my new company right now I am doing 3 people's work, due a) long sickness ending up in resignation, and b) a retiree not being replaced and the crazy thing, even with all that work, I am still not as busy as I was. But I am also not letting the new job go the same way. I have already categorically demanded help and told them that I will leave if I dont' get support. Just because I can handle 3 jobs, doesn't mean I should. Life, suprisingly (which is a little sad I suppose) is good.
but there is an element, more than one I suppose, that I am still dealing with. I don't miss D as fiercly as I did - what with life moving on and all, but at odd moments, I desperately want to tell her things. I do... in my mind... but - well. Like I want to tell her that she was right, I am overworked and its was ridiculous. Right now, I want to tell her about the guy, who seems to like me and calls me a lot.... and that I don't know how to handle it.
Because that's the other thing. Life is good. But I am surprisingly angry at times. I don't shout and scream, I just feel overwhelmed with anger at life and people and their stupidity. And rather than feel excited about this dude and his interest, I am annoyed and irritated and just want him to go away. Only I don't, and that makes me confused. I want to talk to D, get her to explain it, tell me I'm still grieving and all the other things I kinda know and just need someone to say. Cos' she was my person for that. My Christina. My person.
Part of me is thinking that maybe this new chapter isn't just changing jobs. That's it more. I realised the other day just how cut off I'd been... still am. A friend complained that I made hardly any effort to see her. To plan things. I was surprised and caught off guard and while P borders on narcisism, and likes people fawning all over her, she had a point. I had, have made no effort.
I know that it takes a while to process grief and loss. I horde the pictures of D's baby. S occasionally sends me updated pics and vids, and I don't really show anyone else. Mine! The sharp pain of grief catches me unawares at times, mostly when I realise I haven't thought of her for awhile. I worry that my heart is dead and that I'll miss the opportunity with this dude because I don't want to be hurt again.... and mostly because he annoys me! I can't believe its been almost a year. I... don't want it to have been a year.
So that's it. My heart laid out. I haven't felt like writing for a very long time. I still have lots of things to work through. But I am ... bemused at how good life is. Despite my grief. Because of my grief. My family. My friends - treasuring them. Finding joy in the small things, moments. Allowing myself to say no. Putting work its in place, lower on my priorities. Keeping D close to my heart.
<3
I debated committing this to pen and paper as it were. I debated sharing. But its been good writing it out. Its been good letting the tears flow, allowing the realisations to sink in. I'm not finished grieving... nor living. But its what we do going forward that really matters, and I need to just keep reminding myself of that. :-)
So, a small warning, this going to be long. I really don't expect you to read it, and I really don't mind if no one comments, because it's purpose is catharism. I hope. I considered turning comments off, and flocking this, and I still might, but hopefully be the end, you'll understand - understand why I need to tell you this story and why I've been absent from lj and writing for so long.
When I moved back home after my two year whirlwind experience in London, I met D. She was the Cape and had recently moved up to Jo'burg for work and she was unlike anyone else I had ever met. Bright, lively, full of life, a whirlygig of crazyness and randomness. She was my anthithesis. I am ordered, organised and on time. D was spontaneous, chaotic and chronically late. Our friendship was unlikely, but she shook me up, added spice and crazy to my life and I loved it. For two incredible years, I was late for movies, helped her move 3 times, babysat her dogs, giggled and laughed like a teenager and was enthralled by the maelstrom of her life. That was ten years ago.
Jo'burg however wasn't kind to D. And her choices didn't help. She ended up working an incredible idiotic job that was entirely commission based which meant she got into massive debt to pay her rent and car, etc, ended up with a manic roommate who sold her stuff to pay the Nigerians next door, and after two years, D decided to move back home. I completely understood, but I still cried when she left. On her road trip home, she hit a guinea fowl, which killed the radiator of her little car and she ended up having to leave the car in the middle of nowhere and continue the journey with her parents. My life calmed down without her, and I missed her terribly.
Over the next 6 years I visted her once or twice a year. She's the one I visited at the beach.... and her life had not gotten any saner. She worked at a vet, where she ended up adopting a township dog, hit a cow with her car, bought a scooter, crashed her scooter, nearly bought a house in the mountains, planned a thousand business ideas and worked three part time jobs. She challenged me to dream, to think beyond the here and now. She had health issues - i.e. fainting induced by emotion (cataplexy), and a passion for animals and life.
On one memorable trip she told me she wanted to go to Australia for two years as part of her vetinary qualification and work on a dairy farm for experience and to earn some money. I helped her make that possible and in February 2012 she left for Australia. I remember standing in the airport, crying, because I was convinced I would never see her again. That she'd meet some Aussie bloke, get married and never come back. I got a few crazy phonecalls from her at odd hours and she loved Australia. Loved her life there.
February 2013 she suprised me COMPLETELY (which she loved doing) by just showing up one day, on my doorstep as it were. She'd delayed sorting out her visa, too long, and had had to leave the country quickly. She fully planned on going back asap, she just needed to apply for a tourist visa, which she had to do from Cape Town. The plan was: two weeks in the Cape, get the visa, go back to Sydney.
After two weeks, no phone call, no confirmation of where she was. I phoned her and she was still happily in Cape Town. Very happily in Cape Town.... she'd met a guy and was madly in love. Someone she said was a handsome Sheldon Cooper. So, all her stuff, money and life back in Australia.... was forgotten. Left.
And in a way, so was I. It wasn't an Aussie who took her, kept her. I saw her in July of that year, on my now annual trip to her home town, and she was blissfully happy. I was too... for her. March 2014 I get a text message that she is getting married, in two weeks. Can I come? I alas, was flying out for my vacation the day after her wedding and I asked if it was possible for her to delay her wedding, just a little. Nope, it had to be then, which is when I figured she was pregnant. However, she didn't say anything and I apologised, and told her regretfully that I couldn't afford to fly down to Cape Town for one day and then fly out the next day again.
I could have. I probably should have. But I was a little pissed that she wasn't coming clean and that she sprung this on me so suddenly and expected me to just drop everything and come. I regret not going. I am aware that I was being passive aggressive and that I should have just confronted her and said it didn't matter if she was pregnant, but.... I didn't.
Alas, for me, April was the start of one of the bleakest, busiest times of my life. One of my subordinates at work went off sick mid-April. She was off sick for a week and during that week I found a WHOLE bunch of stuff she hadn't done. When J, the subordinate, sent me a sick note from a doctor booking her off for a month - for stress, I kinda flipped. My job was already crazy and now I had to add J's mess to it, to fix. I worked 18 hour days for a month. I got to work at 6.30, worked until 6.30, went home and then worked until 11 or 12. Sometimes 1. I worked Saturday all day. For a month.
When J came back, she told me was going to resign, and acted like nothing was wrong. I was in a really bad space. I was angry beyond belief, tired, stressed and furious. I told her that I was suspending her, that I had enough to fire her. She resigned on the spot and left. I probably would not have been able to fire her. Her mess was bad, but not bad enough to fire her. And now.... I had to replace her. I found the perfect candidate, a young intern who was already with the company, but she could only start working for me in August, Stupid, idiotic me.... I maintained that crazy work routine, 17 hour days, 6 days a week for June and July.
I should have told my boss that it was impossible. I should have refused.... but in that instance, it was a sign of failure, of giving up. So I stuck with it. I survived.
During July, D's sister in law contacted me. She invited me to D's baby shower. So it was official. Baby was now official. The hurt that D still had not bothered to tell me was sharp, and fierce. I toughed it out, told L that I would be there. And then I grew a pair and contacted D. She finally told me, apologised and confessed that she didn't know why she'd been so reluctant to tell me.
August bloomed - literally. Intern started, I got my life back and I planned to go to Cape Town to suprise D. Yep, my turn now, surprise her - as the babyshower was a surprise one. First weekend of September I flew down, stayed in a BnB and nervously waited to see her. It'd been more than a year. I hadn't really been able to be excited for her yet... I was still emotionally drained from work and life and well... here it was.
She walked into the room, suprised to see the party, happy and smiling. And when she saw me, she burst into tears. Her hug was fierce and tight, like she was trying to squeeze in all the apologies and love she could. I might have teared up too. It was a fantastic weekend. We caught up, chatted for hours, I felt her little boy kick, we laughed, we complained about life and ... it was good. Like it had always been. Like no time had passed. Even though her life was now permanently different and tied to Cape Town.
She made me lunch on Sunday and after a long afternoon chatting, I had to go. She come out to the car with me, to say goodbye. I left her standing under a group of lush, green trees, heavy with pregnancy, trred and happy.
Her baby was due in October and I promised that I come back and visit in October, once baby was there, once she was settled. She was having a tough pregnancy. Her liver was under pressure, and in all likelihood she would need a c-section. However, she did not have medical insurance and was relying on state healthcare.
I got the happy announcement that baby arrived early October after a long, difficult labour. The doctors intially insisted that she try natural labour and only after hours and hours, approved the C-section. Government efficiency at its best. But baby was healthy and hale. Mum was tired, but happy. I started planning my trip down to see them ... and meet D's husband for the first time (he'd been away on business in September when I visited).
Mid-October, L, D's sister-in-law sent me a message. D had had a stroke. She was in ICU, paralysed from the neck down.
I was numb. Frozen. Unable to process that.
S, her husband called me a few days later and told me the same thing. I thanked him and sent my love. He said not to come visit just yet, not until she was out of ICU.
It wasn't until her mother called me, a few days after that, that I broke down and started crying. There was no hope of D recovering. She would be paralysed for life. A clot had caused the stroke and it had affected the part of her brain that controlled motor-function. She would be on life support, blind to the world, frozen. She could hear though. And blink.
My friend was trapped. Trapped in a useless body, unable to hold her baby again. Unable to do anything.... ever again.
I cried a lot. I prayed a lot.
I lay awake at night, thinking about what it must be like, to be trapped in your own body. To only have sound as your sole contact with the world. To listen to your husbands voice. Was D railing against the unfairness of it all? Was she screaming, crying? Was she patient, holding out for a miracle.
I may have driven myself a little mad thinking about all of this.
I started re-reading Anne McCaffrey's brain ships series. If you don't know them, I recommend them. It was hard, reading those stories, but I think they offered my idiotic brain a little hope, a vesitage of sanity. I wanted D to have her own ship, so that she wasn't trapped in her body anymore, so she could sore amongst the stars. Free.
Stupid, huh?
News was slow. She wasn't improving dramatically, but she was eventually able to breath on her own. S, her husband called me a few more times, told me that they planned to move D to a private home once she was stable, so that she was closer to home. His mom was looking after baby. He spent all his time at the hospital. He'd made a play list for her, with songs and audio books.
I tried to be positive. I finished the brain ship series, and cried.
November flew by. It's crazy how life just rolls on. The world still turns, no matter the heartache and pain of a family. People live their lives, the sun rises, your heart keeps beating. I remember walking around the office, and at odd moments thinking, "D can't do this anymore. She may never be able to." My mind kept on running through our friendship. So much of my life for the past decade was entwined with hers. Places we'd been. Things we'd done. I'd drive around and think... we ate there. I'd see a friend and think... she liked him and hated his girlfriend. I couldn't seem to stop. I maybe didn't want to.
28 November I got a text message from a friend. "Thinking of you." I thought, ok ... cool. I replied, "Thanks". I was at our company's christmas function and thought nothing more of it. I went drove home and popped into the shops and got another message. "Hope you were able to go home early." Again I thought, 'ok'.... and replied, "No, but TGIF"
As I was walking out of the store... it hit me. The doubt, the fear, the suspicion. This friend did not usually send those kind of messages, so I checked Facebook, my heart pounding. It was the top line on my news feed. D's aunt posted: D passed away this morning.
I didn't want to cry, not in public, not in the middle of strangers. I went home. I didn't cry in the car, although it was hard. I waited until I got home, in the privacy of my room... and then... the floodgates opened. My friend was dead. I cried a lot that night. I'm crying now. It was only that evening that her mother emailed me and said that D died from complications related to pneunomia. I certainly don't blame any of them for not calling me earlier. Their grief was just as fresh, just as raw. I do however, fully plan to dislike her Aunt for the rest of my life. Yeah... pretty small of me, but I resent how I found out. *shrugs*.
Her funeral was the following Friday. In Cape Town of course. So... 9 months after I pissly refused to fly down for just one day to celebrate her wedding... I flew down for just one day to say goodbye. I took my mother with me, both because she loved D too, and for moral support. I met S for the first time. I cried... alot. I went to the graveside, said my goodbyes and cried my broken heart out.
Logically, I knew that she was free. Free from the cage that her body had become. Free from that hell. But her son was barely two months old. She'd been married for nine months. Her whole life was in front of her. Her son was going to grow up without her. I felt like my tears would never end. I kept returning to the last time I had seen her. Under the trees, full of life. Happy. And now, in a dusty grave.
On the flight home I cried some more, and my mum said that it would take time, but it would get better. And she was right. But right then, it was really really hard. I hated that people knew. That my grief wasn't private. Random people at church would come up, hug me and murmur cold words of comfort.
December and Christmas was... strange. I have a sister who lives in the UK and we don't really get on. Its better that she lives far away. But she decided to come out for Christmas and it made for an interesting time. However, aside from some of the usual family stuff, a couple of times she said some quite hurtful things to me. She's always had that ability, to really push my buttons, and more than likely, because my heart was still raw, her words pricked even more. I cried one night, angry at the tears and guilt ridden. I knew it was partly grief, and partly guilt. Grief that my friend, who I loved like a sister, who I loved more than this sister was gone. Wracked by guilt because I didn't love my sister as much and I wanted her to go home. I wanted D back.
2013 was a pretty rough year, but 2014 really took the cake. One of the worst years of my life. The other day, I sat make a list of all the good things in my life and I was quite pleasantly surprised to realise that 2015 so far, has been a pretty good year. And it felt wonderful to say that. As you know, I started a new job. Left the madness of the old company behind. One of my colleagues asked me at my farewell as to why I was 'really' leaving and I truthfully told him that it felt like I was closing a chapter. With D's death, and my resignation, a chapter was ending.
Subsquently I have been gratified to have confirmed that old company was really quite ridiculous with their expectations of me. The guy who replaced me is really struggling and still phones me (6 months later) and asks for help. In fact, more than just he phones me. I am truly missed. But I also realised that I let them do that to me. I allowed that abuse and over-work.
At my new company right now I am doing 3 people's work, due a) long sickness ending up in resignation, and b) a retiree not being replaced and the crazy thing, even with all that work, I am still not as busy as I was. But I am also not letting the new job go the same way. I have already categorically demanded help and told them that I will leave if I dont' get support. Just because I can handle 3 jobs, doesn't mean I should. Life, suprisingly (which is a little sad I suppose) is good.
but there is an element, more than one I suppose, that I am still dealing with. I don't miss D as fiercly as I did - what with life moving on and all, but at odd moments, I desperately want to tell her things. I do... in my mind... but - well. Like I want to tell her that she was right, I am overworked and its was ridiculous. Right now, I want to tell her about the guy, who seems to like me and calls me a lot.... and that I don't know how to handle it.
Because that's the other thing. Life is good. But I am surprisingly angry at times. I don't shout and scream, I just feel overwhelmed with anger at life and people and their stupidity. And rather than feel excited about this dude and his interest, I am annoyed and irritated and just want him to go away. Only I don't, and that makes me confused. I want to talk to D, get her to explain it, tell me I'm still grieving and all the other things I kinda know and just need someone to say. Cos' she was my person for that. My Christina. My person.
Part of me is thinking that maybe this new chapter isn't just changing jobs. That's it more. I realised the other day just how cut off I'd been... still am. A friend complained that I made hardly any effort to see her. To plan things. I was surprised and caught off guard and while P borders on narcisism, and likes people fawning all over her, she had a point. I had, have made no effort.
I know that it takes a while to process grief and loss. I horde the pictures of D's baby. S occasionally sends me updated pics and vids, and I don't really show anyone else. Mine! The sharp pain of grief catches me unawares at times, mostly when I realise I haven't thought of her for awhile. I worry that my heart is dead and that I'll miss the opportunity with this dude because I don't want to be hurt again.... and mostly because he annoys me! I can't believe its been almost a year. I... don't want it to have been a year.
So that's it. My heart laid out. I haven't felt like writing for a very long time. I still have lots of things to work through. But I am ... bemused at how good life is. Despite my grief. Because of my grief. My family. My friends - treasuring them. Finding joy in the small things, moments. Allowing myself to say no. Putting work its in place, lower on my priorities. Keeping D close to my heart.
<3
I debated committing this to pen and paper as it were. I debated sharing. But its been good writing it out. Its been good letting the tears flow, allowing the realisations to sink in. I'm not finished grieving... nor living. But its what we do going forward that really matters, and I need to just keep reminding myself of that. :-)