Tuesday, February 8, 2011

For you.

One of the hardest things i ever had to do was to put Jesse's things away. He was always very private, played certain things close to his chest. There were things about him no one knew, even though he could be completely candid, and was always honest about how he felt. Everything I touched felt like a violation. He'd been living in the front apartment of our loft, so everything he owned was right there. I had to get into his computer, close out his bank accounts, go through his address books to make sure I'd notified all his friends. It took me months to get to the point of packing up his clothes. But I also had to go through his cell phone, his computer and his papers to make sure everyone was covered, that I had done what Jesse would have wanted for them. (Even though I could hear his voice saying, Mom! What are you doing with my THINGS!? -- where Jesse would have been the first to say how little they mean to anyone but him.)

It wasn't hard to figure out his passwords, but that's not the same as having to email kids who he'd coached in debate, to tell them that the mentor they'd just checked in on was gone. Friends from high school trying to get back in touch. His whole adult world was there, for the most part, not connected to each other yet, but there. What stuck out most of all in the personal correspondence, is the level of closeness, the depth of caring that he shared with his friends. He loved each and every one of you in just the way you think he did.

He may have been exasperated, sarcastic, mocking, or sweet, challenging, concerned, confiding, protective, doting. But above all that, or underneath it, he loved you. And he didn't want to leave.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

I hate February

I tried to make myself busy from mid January (when he was diagnosed with the relapse and back in the hospital) to February 8 (you know). But it just makes me more stressed, instead of preoccupying me. Irreverent class I'm teaching on um, relationship skills, not helping. Irreverent class "visual aids" arrived in the mail today, which made me laugh out loud (a box of small pink dildos). I know it'll be fun. I know I'll be fine, but goddamn it I'm not fine. Even when I'm fine.

Fuck this. I already knew how to cry without letting the tears fall.