Weddings or unexpected (and unwanted) memories

As I have said some time before, I thought that I was more or less able to control my grief. Well, it is also still unpredictable in many ways. On the one side memories or certain occasions will trigger an outburst of grief, which can take various forms, on the other side I notice now how my body is physically affected. Pretty amazing how my body reacted in a way I would have least predicted and thereby took some of my attention back. With my denial, which seemed so important when I was doing research, I only caused my grief to go elsewhere. I hope these problems will subside now that I am back home where I hopefully will have some more time for myself. Funny, how the body takes its toll.
On the other side are memories. We went to the wedding of a dear friend last weekend. When her siblings performed a small piece in their honor I could barely stand it. I actually had to leave the room to catch some breath. While I was watching them standing on the stage the picture merged with my siblings performing for us. ALL of my siblings. And then grief just hits ground. It will never, NEVER be like this again. I will never get to perform with him for one of my other siblings when they get married. I will never again hear him sing. Or speak. Or laugh, or just see him.
Maybe this wedding that took place literally a day after I got back home was meant as something to point me towards giving myself more time, more than I thought I needed at this point. Some say that the second year is the hardest. I thought that I could control it now, that I managed to find a way to deal with the grief. And yet again I am realizing that there is no such thing as a clear road through this enormous grief. Why did you do this to me, to us, Alexander?

More thoughts

Honestly, I don’t know where this blog is leading me. I do realize that I am not posting very much lately. There is a reason for this though. I try to live. I simply try to live, occupy every single minute of my day in a halfway successful attempt to stop these reoccurring thoughts from appearing again and again. This keeps me from thinking my own thoughts. I still think of Alexander, of course. My sister visited me last week in this country and we went for a hike by the sea. It was not the best day for a hike, in fact, we returned in a heavy drenching rain only to realize we had to wait to be picked up for another three hours and there was no café or the like to be found in that remote place. Anyway, especially in moments like these, plus when there is a close relative of mine, we talk about Alexander, remember and miss him together. It is hard to do since our initial goal was to merely enjoy the beauty of nature - which is even or especially visible when overcast. However, I also do realize the gift I have. It is not self-evident to have a family that is able to talk about how Alexander’s death has affected us. I am lucky to have the possibility of sharing my thoughts and feelings whenever I feel the need to do so. On the other hand, it gives me comfort to be there for them whenever they need me. I am thankful for having a great family.
But I am rambling. As you notice, whenever I give myself the time to think, to remember, to feel the pain it comes pouring out. For most of the day, however, I press it inside. And it works for me. Right now. So I am unable to say where this is all leading me. But I guess this is the story of grief.

One year and one month

Dear Alexander,

Hard to believe. Sometimes I think of you and think it is not true. I miss you, still and every day.
I know, you want me to bring some order in my random thoughts that are just spilling out of me. Well, there is this one sentence in your suicide notes: Life will go on. Yes, it does go on. So much has happened since you left us. I can laugh again, I am working like crazy, I can concentrate again, we managed to get through another spring, there are new partners of our siblings in the family, others left, family gatherings took place, we are all still living. You were right, life does go on. But how? I don’t think you fully grasped just how much would change for all of us. How could you, I don’t even blame you that much for it anymore. You were in such a deep hole that it must have been impossible for you to see. This is the only way for me to understand that you chose the path you did. So while life goes on, it goes on without you. And you are (yes, ARE) an important part of this family. So while I am working without major concentration problems I still catch myself drifting off thinking of you and where you might be. And while I laugh I sometimes think how at one point I could not imagine ever being able to laugh again. When I look at the flowers blooming and plant my little garden I think whether you would also think that I am crazy about it like the other siblings do. I know you are different, and maybe you would understand why I had to get five tomato plants for the tiny space I have available. Heck, maybe I would not even have felt the desperate need to get an outdoors space like I did. Some force within myself was driving me to the outdoors ever since you left. Maybe I needed to see that life does indeed go on, new plants/life grows. And of course, every time we celebrate something as a family there is a gigantic hole in the middle where you would be, with your smile, your laughter, your teasing comments, your love. So all I can tell you today, one year, one month and two days since you left us, is that I miss you. You are being loved, will always be loved. And missed. And while we love and miss you all of us are trying to live our lives with you in our hearts.
I love you my dear, dear, wonderful brother.

Carola