A reminder in emotional violence…

June 2, 1991.

She has a scrapbook. It details the last months of his life. Literally all the scrupulous details down to the last moments before the light went out…plane tickets, newspaper clippings, ticket stubs, papers with his writings on it, schedules, pictures, first-hand accounts of his last days…last words…last minutes…even old napkins. She even wrote in the margins about what was happening and how it felt. As if to hold that time still. I get that.

Sometimes you just hang on. Stop. Stay still. Don’t move. Let’s rest. Don’t leave. Just hold my hand. Don’t let go. Let’s just be here. Right now. We don’t have to look forward. We don’t have to look back. Just here. Together.

But it doesn’t work like that…

I found the scrapbook last year. Looking through it is like reading about a horrific train crash happening in slow motion. With each page turn you get closer to June 2nd. I must have looked through that album a handful of times now. That’s the thing about horrific train crashes…You don’t want to look. You probably shouldn’t. And yet somehow…you can’t look away. I can remember now almost verbatim how he spent his last day on this earth. Give me a time in the day and I can tell you what he was doing. When he woke up. When he read the paper. When he played catch outside with my brother. When he kissed my mom goodbye. When he collapsed on the soccer field. When his eyes glazed over. When it was over. I know all of it.

Emotional violence.

I must admit that in other years this day has been marked by constant thoughts about him. He is on my mind. He is in my heart. He’s here with me. And he is, but this year most of my thoughts revolve around my mom.

The ambiguous loss. 

There aren’t really words to describe it. How to explain what this feels like…

It doesn’t seem to matter how tough I am or how much resilience I build, the trauma of this always finds a way in and continues to leave its mark. There must be scars all over me by now. It follows me to work, it follows me home…and into my dreams.

I’m finding it hard to fully lean into joyful moments these days. I wouldn’t necessarily put it under outright averse, but I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I have moments of happiness and joy…sure, but it’s not long before a call comes or an e-mail with another change, another progression further into darkness, another proverbial hit to the face with a bat. I can’t fully lean into the joy because part of me is now constantly braced and waiting for something to come along and blow the joy to bits.

Emotional violence.

I’m mad at myself because I know it’s not a good way to live. When I think about this day…26 years ago now, I remind myself how quickly things change and how precious this life really is. He was precious. So precious to us. One minute he was here, the next minute he was gone. Our joy blown to bits. And then you have her…One minute she was here, she was our safety net, she knew where she lived, and who her children were. And now…our joy…blown to bits.

It makes boundaries seem so futile and useless, doesn’t it? Boundaries don’t keep other people out. They fence you in. Life is beautiful and messy and fragile…so why waste time drawing lines? As I write all of this and continue to take in the significance of this day, I just want to pour it all out. I have so much love to give. I’m also reminded just to be here. Stand still. Be present with people. Tell them you love them. Tell them they mean something to you. Give them hugs and kisses. And express gratitude.

It’s not always happy and joyous, but I fight hard to find those moments and at the very least be in a state of gratefulness. And perhaps gratitude doesn’t necessarily always connect with joy. Maybe being grateful means recognizing what you have for what it is, appreciating small victories. Admiring the struggle it takes to simply be human. Maybe we’re thankful for the familiar things we know. And maybe we’re thankful for the things we’ll never know. At the end of the day, the fact that I have the courage to still be standing here right now screaming at the top of my lungs “I LOVE YOU AND I AM HERE!!” is reason enough to celebrate.

And so let’s celebrate. Being here. Together. 

Voor jou vader: Ik draag je hart. Ik draag je hart in mijn hart. Je bent altijd bij mij. Ik bid dat ik je trots maak. Je zou naar haar moeten gaan. Ze heeft jou nodig. Ik hou van je. xxx