Talk to me about loss

Ever experience a loss that made you panic like a wounded animal? Panic not just because of the pain, but because you didn’t know if the pain would ever stop? If it might just continue on like James Joyce’s description of eternity?

Please, tell me your story in the comments. Tell me who you lost, and and how, and why.

6 thoughts on “Talk to me about loss

  1. My mother. It was kidney failure, but I guess she had cancer so advanced she wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway. I had to make the decision, she never came back and my stepdad’s english is so shoddy he couldn’t bear to deal with them. We didn’t have any insurance, I didn’t know what to do. They would have figured that out eventually (they were always asking) and what would they have done? Kicked us out? Charged us more? They’re already asking my stepdad to pay more than he’ll make in three years for the privilege of watching her kick it. I wish she had died at home. I wish she had died unexpectedly, that they would have called me while I was away at school and told me. That’s how I always fantasized about it — quick and painless for both of us, I would be totally alone, unattached. I would have killed myself, just gone into one of the shower stalls and never come back. I used to think about murder-suicide — could she have gone on without me? I didn’t think she could, I was the only good thing in her life and vice versa. I always thought she wanted to die, that if I asked she’d be down for a suicide pact, but deep down, I could never do it, how could i? I’d just have to wait for her to die and then do it. Then she was dying and all I could think was, “Finally, we’re out of here.” But look at me, I’m here typing a year later. While she was dying I got close to my stepdad.You spend a week crying with someone in the ICU and they start to be your problem. I felt obligated not to leave him alone. And I feel terrible. Every day. It gets less terrible, I guess, but not because anything has changed. I just distance myself from the feeling. If I think about it, I go nuts. We were so miserable. A whole part of my life is just gone. My entire childhood, my family tree — there’s no one left to tell me about it. My deadbeat dad can’t tell me shit, even if I knew where he was. My grandmother died two months after mom — the only other person I ever loved, who ever shared her life with me. All the stories my mother ever told me are gone, except for the few fragments I can remember. Her biography is spotty. I feel like I don’t know anything about her. All the terrible shit that happened when I was a kid that I needed her to explain, to excuse, to MAKE RIGHT because I can barely remember and goddamn, I still blame her, is STILL THERE, but so blurry. I contacted the county courthouse, asked for whatever papers they could send me and nothing useful came of it. I spend so much time just trying not to feel crazy, and it usually doesn’t work. I don’t even know if I want her back or not. I dream about her all the time: sometimes it’s just business as usual but a lot of the time she’s a monster, a freak. I feel completely alone, like no one cares about me especially and specifically. I think about how things used to be and I cry, and then I think about how miserable I was before anyway. Same shit, different day — that was mom’s favorite saying.
    Sorry, this feels like too much. But I’m drunk and I guess I needed to tell someone.

  2. 3 houses up in a grand, turn-of-the 19th century true craftsman home with spiral stairways and marble fireplaces lived a girl with long brown hair, green eyes and seemingly an endless supply of flowered smocks.

    She and I were both in fourth grade enrolled in the same school. Teacher seated us alphabetically so by sheer fortune she was one up and and right of me. Every move, every word was noticed. Come to think of it, very little scholastic achievement is recalled during these days. The way she tilted her head, twirled her hair, raised her hand …

    With every excuse known there was always a reason to be close to her, petting her dog, helping to work on their yard, anything. Didn’t even want to blink knowing I would miss a glimpse of her.

    Eventually she noticed. She invited me to her brothers basketball games, her friends would come over and we would play ‘sleep-over’. We took turns being the coquette.

    Dreaming of her touch, stroking her hair, came real one day in her driveway. Our lips touched first, then locked ever so gently. Someone was setting off fireworks nearby I could not believe this! what awful timing! Oh curses….that sound was in my head.

    The next 24 months was a blur of perputual bliss and happiness, it was never going to end. She had campouts in her backyard and I would sneak over early in the morning and snuggle and giggle till we fell asleep.

    Her family is Mormon, her father was in the heirarchy. The church moved them to New York when we were in 6th grade. Emotions ran the gamut from sadness, anger, puzzlement, abandonment.

    4 years passed before we shared a glance. She was visiting friends from the church and drove by with a friend while I was pretending to be a big-league pitcher against the garage door. My longing was reawakened, yet muted.

    In my early 20’s, I telephoned her in New York to an awakward, brief conversation where she shared her husband and 3 children were all doing well.

    There will never be a second time to have those emotions, so raw, so pure, a real gift.

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