Walking home today and my mind wanders along with my feet. After Willie died, walking became of form of moving meditation for me and today felt very much like that.
I have made a conscious effort to not dwell… to not focus on what has been lost but rather on the present and what I have in my life now. For the most part this has been a good thing and it’s worked in letting me try to move forward.
Today though all I could think about on the way home was Willie. I miss him. It hurts. On so many levels and in so many ways.
I catch myself chastising myself for doing what I “shouldn’t”. I realize that I’m sad and grieving now not only for Willie and what I lost but also for what won’t ever be now. I grieve for things that never happened and for things that never will. It’s bad enough to feel the pain of loss but to feel pain for things that never were seems not only ridiculous but indulgent and selfish.
So I get mad at myself for doing it. I get angry that I’m not grieving “properly”. The anger turns to hatred and then the tears come… and the truth that underneath all that anger is simple hurt.
I miss him.
I muse over the fact that suicide is something that isn’t fair. The simplicity of it is that a life has been taken. Just like murder; someone is to blame. With suicide, it’s even easy in a sense; we know exactly who was responsible for the death. In our case, we even had notes and reasons, of a sort, explained by him. The unfortunate part of this is that there is no one to blame, really, except for Willie. We can’t vilify bullies or predators who harassed him and drove him to kill himself. He’s not a victim of anyone’s malicious intent or ignorant brutality. I can argue that the “system” failed him or that his doctors or counsellors didn’t do what they should have or that this or that or this or that could have, would have, should have…that mental illness clouded his judgement and altered his mind to the point that he chose actions that he would not have, had he been healthy. After all the conjecture and hindsight the most basic of all truths is that Willie took his own life. That at the second when he had to make a choice to do it or not, he chose to take an action that would result in his death. I believe that his mental illness contributed to his choice and his actions but I also believe that he knew fully and consciously what he was doing, and that it was his choice.
I have gone through a period of such anger at him for what he did. That’s dissipated though. Having endured and lived through the hell of the last 2 and a half years I have come to be able to understand, in a sense, his choice. The feeling of just wanting what is, to not be. His journals made it clear that he didn’t necessarily want to be dead, he just didn’t want to live like he was anymore. That is certainly something that I have been able to relate to. With that understanding comes the release of the anger. Replaced with the pain and the hurt of losing him.
Feeling some days like I’m back where I started… but knowing now that, as bad as today is, the belief that tomorrow can be better is there. So, I cry and let the hurt be felt… and try not to turn the hurt inward to anger at myself for feeling it… couch and blanket tonight … up and moving forward again tomorrow.