JPC
I got word late last night that an old friend had died. Someone I grew up with, our mothers were friends. He was a few years younger and, of all of his siblings, I was particularly fond of him and his twin sister. I have very distinct memories of their family farm, kids and dogs running everywhere, and the overstuffed dark-paneled rooms where our parents would visit.
Our building is hosting the memorial, something we do on occasion when the family doesn’t want the service at a funeral home and/or the deceased wasn’t part of a religious body. So I spent my afternoon working with his brother to get everything scheduled and make sure we have personnel on site during the service to help run things.
I don’t know how he did it. I don’t need details. And I generally don’t like to center myself in someone else’s tragedy, pulling dumb-fuckery like posting self-serving social media posts. The only reason I’m writing at all is because I’m spiraling a little. I thought I had dealt with the events of last February, but clearly not based on my current headspace.
It’s just… you really can’t make someone stay when they don’t want to be here anymore. At the same time, I know from past experience how incredibly difficult it is to be amongst those left behind. The fact that I almost had to walk through that again, as a parent no less - I’ve only been fooling myself, thinking I’ve fully processed that. Things are good now, for the first time in years, but there is always the sense that could change at any moment.
This is the most frank I’ve been about this on here, mostly because I was barely writing at the time. I feel like there was a period of time where we were just in survival mode. I wish they didn’t inherit all of my shit. Between the two of them they have inherited all of it, but worse. I got home from work and hugged them both so hard.
The state of anxious hyper-vigilance around here has started to relax, even though we still take preventative measures like locking things up in the safe. I can sleep at night without worrying what I’ll wake up to, and no longer start to panic where I can’t find one of them. But a door has been opened that can never be shut. I worry what will happen when they eventually move out on their own. Or if the meds stop working.
The fear will always be with me now. I doubt it will ever go away.
5:36 p.m. - 2023-06-30