Monday, June 3, 2019


I never published these, but I'm going to leave them here on the very public internet because that's what you must do as a POS millennial, right?

I feel like it's important to record my process, probably because it gives me a tiny sense of control. And, just like with the other shitty things I've been through and written about, if it helps someone else feel less insane, it's worth it.



Thanksgiving is coming, and with it, our first holiday without E, not counting his birthday, which is when we held his memorial ... thingy?

"Funeral" sounds wrong.

Funerals don't have mosh pits.

E loathed and despised all things traditional, unless you were talking turkey. One year, we went to a Chinese restaurant to mix things up, and E spent the entire car ride home (an HOUR, mind you) complaining about how much better “normal” Thanksgiving was.

He loved Thanksgiving, and he could pack away mashed potatoes and pie like nobody’s business.

This, I think, anyway, is how I found myself sobbing over celery. I’m never going to have another Thanksgiving (in this particular dimension, anyway) with my brother, and the fact that is now a F.A.C.T. sits on my shoulders. I feel like my family is missing a limb. Our dynamics are all weird, and we don't know our places or how to function properly without him.

The other worst is that this whole fucked up process is nowhere near linear. Sometimes, you feel great. Sometimes, you spend the day crying in a papasan chair in your pajamas. The whole day. I wish that each day, it would get a little bit better.

But nope.

If I go fast enough, I can skip right over the top of the pit of despair like a smooth stone on a glassy lake. Holidays, when you're supposed to relax and enjoy things, are the opposite of what I need to do to keep myself afloat. So, tomorrow's bucket list includes yoga, crochet, a movie and probably stretchy pants. Screw makeup, screw nice clothes, screw turkey, screw holidays.



Christmas. I don't really remember it, honestly. We opened presents and then did Chinese food and a movie at the theater, and it was way better than trying to have a holiday. Grace dubbed Aquaman, "the most beautiful I'VE EVER SEEN!" And someone, I think I know who, left candy on our car with our hashtag #WWED. Have I mentioned this before on here? It's a slightly blasphemous iteration of "what would Jesus do?" to help us remember to live a little more freely, like my brother did.

There was a lot of crying on the way home.



My birthday was so much harder than I thought it would be. I've been listening to a lot of things on grief, and one of the phrases that sticks is that your dead person is now "frozen in time." You keep getting older and creakier and sadder, and they get to go do whatever it is that you do when you die. Our top suspicions are morphing into crows and making viral videos.

I have a lot of anger ... okay, rage. I feel devastated, and I feel like it's his fault for making such a stupid choice, even thought I know we all do dumb things.

Some of us just don't happen to end up dead.

In conclusion, WEAR YOUR FUCKING SEATBELTS, peeps.



It's been six months. Six months since the bottom dropped out of my inherent belief that the universe is a kind and benevolent place.

Six months has been really difficult.

The world has moved on. New scandals, new excitement, new tragedies, new bright and shiny bullshit.

I feel like a part of me will always be trapped on that horrible day. The part that shattered into a million pieces that will never go back together. The part that made me believe I was safe and secure.

In other news, I went back to therapy, because what the fuck else are you supposed to do. Turns out I have all kinds of stuff to work on, not just this most recent bomb drop. Who's surprised? *crickets*

(I just realized it kinda looks like I'm saying all the crickets are surprised. I'LL TAKE IT.)

Oh, and did I mention the weather? It seems like it's been raining since October, which I know is impossible because there was an entire winter in there but holy shitballs, it's SO SAD.

Did I also mention that our "sign" from E has become crows? E looooooved crows for a variety of reasons. It's weird and woo-woo, but hey, you do what you have to do to avoid the depression drain pipe.  I've never seen so many crows before. Maybe I've just never noticed them, but it's a comforting reminder.

Yes, trash-loving birds who eat roadkill are comforting. If you knew E, you know how perfect it is.



I fell totally apart, almost back to the beginning of the process, it seemed like, Friday night, May 30. Sobbing, weeping, yelling "whyyyyyyyy" like a baby cow, the whole nine yards. That thing about grief being non-linear continues to deliver delightful surprises.

We spent the next morning picking up trash on the highway. I had a pretty solid hangover ... maybe contributory to the aforementioned breakdown. It was an especially apropos way to honor my party-loving brother, who would force all the other horribly hungover people to clean up their garbage the morning after forest keggers.

Sunday, June 2, was eight months. I was expecting it to be hard, but the Friday fall-out must have tided me over. I wish there was some rhyme or reason to this.

I've also been having a pretty hard time in the mornings. That's how I ended up writing here at 6:35 a.m., and if you know me you know that's a big deal because I am the exact opposite of a morning person. E no longer being here is the first thought in my head most days, and damn, it's a depressing way to start things.

This particular morning the thought was followed by a highlight reel of our childhood. I am so happy for the memories, but it still feels like my insides are being ripped out when the thoughts come up.

That's all I've got for now.


In conclusion (I say like I'm writing some big thesis or something), this fucking sucks. If you're going through something like it - losing a loved one or otherwise - big hugs and creative cussing at the universe is happening on your behalf from this corner of Northwest Colorado.

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