Hey Simon,

Sorry, I haven’t been active here. I have tried writing so many times – personal journals, here, on paper, on MS word. Nothing worked except when I was ranting on FB. It’s been two years and 6 days since you passed away (still struggling to say died). Two years since your memorial. Things have changed. I’ve moved to a new city for a new job. I lost my Grandpa two weeks back. I’ve been in my first ever accident. You have another gorgeous niece who resembles you so much that it’s bit creepy. I have another niece and another nephew. Your brother got married. My cousin became a widow as well. So many updates. Only constant is the ache.

I have to say I have gotten really good in compartmentalizing my grief. I can now pretend to be OK around other people. I have also gotten really good at silent crying. I guess this is what people meant when they say it gets better. It gets better for them. They don’t have to see the grief. Widows just get better at hiding it. Or maybe getting better simply means you are not falling apart all the time. I now go out for drinks with the girls and laugh out loud. I just fall apart once I’m home and you are not there.

I do think I have changed as a person as well. Sometimes I am more patient about things. Sometimes I get angry when I see people taking their lives for granted. ‘It’s too short’, I want to yell at them, ‘Make most of it.’ I have learned to accept that some people will never talk about you, no matter how much I want to. Some people will focus on how your death impacts them, not me. And I do realise I’m being selfish here. You were/are after-all mine. I want people to acknowledge my life is forever changed. I want them to see I’m hurting.

So I’m clearly showing some narcissistic tendencies here. I’m making your death about me. Can I just blame you here? You made everything about me. You indulged me too much. All I can now do is feel guilt. Guilt about not taking that holiday, guilt about forcing you to eat/not eat certain foods, guilt about not watching that show with you or that movie or that book you got me, guilt about being alive when you are not.

I think I’ll finish it off here tonight. I am clearly digressing a lot.

S

PS: I might end up posting my FB rants here. Because why not? my words need to immortalised (or til I continue to pay for it or til wordpress stays in business)

Hey Simon,

I was reading your old texts today and for a little while, it felt like you were just here. It’s so hard at times esp when everything comes rushing back.

We did the Relay for Life on the weekend and I missed you so much. You would’ve liked it. I was slightly hurt when some of your friends backed out of it or when some never even bothered responding. But then rest of your friends, my friends and colleagues rallied and we had this amazing team. I wish you could’ve been here to see this and do it with me.

I was at the supermarket the other day and saw some wasabi chips that you would’ve liked. Needless to say, I was a blubbering mess again. I wish I could go to a supermarket and come home without bursting into tears. Such a simple task it is, going to the supermarket. Yet, so integral to a shared life. All those calls to each other to ask if something is needed. All that meal planning. Remember how you once posted to the facebook about my asking you what type of corn can to pick up. How was I supposed to know what corn you needed? I miss that. You teasing me about such things. Me feigning outrage over your teasing. How will any supermarket trip be normal now? They just remind me how lonely I am.

Wishing with my every breath that you were still here.

xxx

S

 

Dear Simon,

It’s been six months since you passed away. ‘Passed away’ not ‘Died’ because in some convoluted way, saying you have died seems too final. As if it’s not final enough yet. I spent first month in a daze, second in denial, third in acceptance, fourth in contemplating suicide, fifth in making plans and sixth in being busy. Nothing works. I still go to bed in tears. I still cry while driving. I still call out for you.

You are wondering why I’m writing here when I talk to you almost all the time. Because it’s easier to put things down sometimes. Because I am afraid world will forget you. Because maybe you will read these some day, some where, in some form. And you’ll know that someone kept missing you.

xxx

S