Owen died on October 24. A Sunday morning. 6 months exactly to Easter Sunday.
I’m not the sentimental type and I rarely even note birthdays, never mind half-anniversaries. The day did not arrive with any dread and it did not pass with regret that I didn’t do something more. Maybe the idea of 6 months is bigger than the moment of the day that marks the 6 months. If you get what I mean.
I wrote and thought a lot about Owen’s eventual death before he actually died. I said once, last summer, “When Owen dies, I’m going to spend 6 months in a cave.” Carsten asked, “Why a cave?” The 6 months wasn’t questioned.
I suppose I imagined 6 months was what I would need to become functional again. That I would hide for a while, bawl my eyes out and then be… what? Ready? For…? Of course it was easy to say then. From that place that doesn’t exist anymore. That place I was in and the person I was before it happened. When Owen was alive and my musings were safely theoretical.
Turns out I didn’t go to a cave. I have been alternately out in the world and lying on my sofa – leaving each place only when I can’t stand it anymore. Owen’s life and death are in me and around me and moving through me so continually I can’t distinguish between grief, acceptance, relief – it’s all there, all the time. A cave wouldn’t have made a difference.
And the 6 months? The event of his death feels like a while ago. Sure – like 6 months. It’s his life that was forever ago and yet somehow continues. I don’t think there will be a time limit on that.
Love you lots xoxo
I was just wondering how you were…I had no idea it had been six months. Hugs. That’s all.
What an achingly perfect image to go with your words.
I just “lost” my daughter on April 4th. Very suddenly. She was very physically disabled and I knew her life would be short but she died in the middle of the night at home when I was out of town with work for the first time ever.
My husband was out of her room for a couple of hours. The monitors were on.
We do not know what happened. She was scheduled to see her doctors that morning because she was so uncomfortable and sick again but they said don’t bring her to ER. Too many sick kids and too dangerous for her.
I thought she would have a final respiratory crisis at the hospital and we would all be there.
We had spent so much time at the hospital.
I send you my condolences for your beloved son.
My friend Elizabeth Aquino just sent me the link to your blog this morning.
Sincerely,
Jody Gelb
@connie – Love you too :)
@claire – Thank you for reaching out! I’m doing okay. Busy with photos and writing. And work. And I miss my boy.
@A – that photo is my all-time favourite. and I have a lot!
@jody – so very sorry… will be sending an email separately.
This was achingly beautiful. This line particularly moved me:
“Owen’s life and death are in me and around me and moving through me so continually I can’t distinguish between grief, acceptance, relief – it’s all there, all the time.”
xo