On love and death

I went running. I ran for a long, long, time, hoping to chase it out of my mind. What if it were Jack? What if something happened to Anais? But maybe you can’t run away from it – maybe you have to face it.

But how does a man face someone else’s death? Or more specifically, how do I face the possibility of someone I love dying? I don’t know if I can – you know, it’s actually easier to think about yourself dying, something Lisanne and I did several times before I left.

I wish I knew what death was. I wish that I could at least know that there was a heaven, and that it was good. Jack asked about heaven and I told him it was a place where whatever you wanted was there, and everyone you wanted to be there was with you. It’s hard, trying to describe a place you don’t believe in. But I didn’t want him to be afraid, especially with me leaving.

Lisanne is taking both kids to the funeral. I think that’s good. They’re old enough. I think I was 7 when my cousin Shawn died. Or eight. He was hit by a car right in front of his mother… I remember that his hair didn’t quite look natural in the casket. How did Uncle Alvin and Aunt Marilyn cope?? They didn’t, I think. Maybe you can’t.

So… so how do you face it? Do you say it out loud? Like I wish my children good night out loud every night before I fall asleep? Do you think it? Even if it hurts? Or are there just some areas of existence that you pretend don’t exist. I don’t want to think of my children’s death, and I don’t want to think of Ella dying in her mother’s arms. But I can’t get it out of my head. I want to run, and I want to go to sleep and for it to be some other day. Just not today.

Lisanne wrote last week that Ella had taken a serious turn for the worse. I didn’t reply. What do you say? “I hope she has a nice death?” It’s not funny - I feel that I am often awkward in social situations, but perhaps more so when dealing with death. It’s the kids especially; kids shouldn’t die, and kids especially shouldn’t die before their parents.

It’s funny, just yesterday I was telling myself that I am here and I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. And I do, but this doesn’t help. Well, I don’t know if I’ve faced anything, but I do have things to finish up at the office. I will keep busy, and hope for email from home towards the end of the day. And then I’ll walk back to my hooch and go to sleep. I really am pretty lucky – I have people in Swansea and Ferndale and Connecticut who love me. And I love them - I don’t know the purpose of life, and I really don’t understand death, but if living has any meaning at all, it must be to love, in spite of everything. And tomorrow will be another day.