Friday, 27 March 2015

In Letting Him Go, I Get To Keep Him. (528 days)

This is a post I thought I would never write. Ever.




Ever. But here it is, straight off the presses. I need to write this post. The quality of the rest of my life and possibly my children's lives depend on the ability and courage and pain it's going to take to write this post.

So imma write this motherfucking post. And I'll keep it is as sharp as succinct and straight to the jugular as I can. Hey now there's a good writers tip. "Aim for the jugular. And when your readers bleed out and slip down in their seats from sheer ferocious truth, you'll know you've done your job properly."

I just googled the days between October 15th 2013 and March 27th 2015 and it's only 528 days? THAT'S NOTHING! NO WONDER! WHAT!

But who here is a liiiiiitle bit thinking Eden, really hon, I love you but you got to start moving. Forward. On. Together. Something. I know I have, I feel it like I'm reading a book too close to the fire and the pages are starting to curl up from the heat.

Man that furnace must have been hot to burn a body as strong as his.

Truth? I'm still not entirely sure a lot of people grasp the complete desperation and hopelessness and devastation my brother Cam left inside me when he took himself away that day in October. Ending years of fighting, giving up, fighting, resilience, torment, anger, abandonment, pain. And is that not what humans feel anyway? What the hell did he think - life is a bed of roses for the the rest of us? Actually there was a moment a few months ago and I had just yelled at everybody in the entire family and the house was a mess and I was transferring piss sheets to the washing machine and then the load in the dryer fell out on top of my head and the boys were shouting and we were late and I just stopped. And laughed, so, so hard. Yelling at my dead brother now like I do sometimes.


And here's the part where I'm supposed to say all these platitudes about life worth living anyway and seeing the wildflowers in the cracks of the pavement where the grass grows and the simple joy I find in amazing moments and oh my god, I am just so incredibly lucky and thrilled to be here.


I don't say shit that's not true for me and that shit's not true for me. It never will be. I will drag my sorry arse around the earth until I die from something but until then I have every right to feel whatever the godddamn hell I'm gonna feel. As do you. Right or wrong. We feel what we feel.

My brother didn't die once. He died 528 days straight, in my eyes - and counting. Every day is another day further from those eyes, that wit, that SOMETHING that I wanted to force down his throat so he could live life but he just couldn't. For a myriad, a plantation, a clusterfuck, an amalgamation of reasons.

I caught myself sipping a cup of tea looking out the window last week thinking, "Good on you mate." And it took me by surprise, this teeny pocket of acceptance around what he has done. He has fucked with  my entire belief system about every construct I ever built up about the world with my bare hands. He ripped god from the sky and angels from heavens and left me with nothing. But that's the thing - he didn't leave ME. He was not MY POSSESSION. I have claimed ownership over him and his death like some really fucked up thing but the truth is, Cameron belonged to Cameron. His whole life. Sure he changed my entire world when he was born and love flooded into my heart for the first time ever but that wasn't his fault and it wasn't mine. It just happened.

Somebody incredibly well-meaning once told me that I am having an abnormal grief reaction and at first I was offended but now I agree. Because when he was born, I had an abnormal love reaction. Due to circumstance. And when you really think about it, is not all love abnormal I mean WHY would we choose to put our hearts on the line like that, when it can be wrenched away? It's why I hardly have, for my entire life. For fear of being ripped open.

The death, THE DEATH of my brother has irrevocably changed me and I will never be the same again. I will never be the same again. 528 days of not being the same Eden - a weeping Eden, bleeding Eden, once a little girl who loved her brother so much she thought her heart would explode from love.

And that got taken away. And I have seen and felt some stuff but you guys? Never. Nothing. No adjectives. I still find it hard to believe that there are other people in the world who could possibly come close to the loss and depth of pain I feel after losing someone you love. I guess that's why it's good to talk about it, let it out, purge, let people in, cry. Bono says a friend is someone who lets you help. I've let a few in, this past year and a bit. Let them see me at my worst. They still stuck around.

I have written off entire relationships because of what has happened. I have had gifts, from Cams death. Which are painful because I don't want gifts but there they are, shining, rising, waiting to be opened. I am free. I am truly free in a way I have never been before. All bets are off. Everything got thrown up into the air. I almost died, a few times. I left my marriage. I decided to become a slam poet in honour of him and every single stage I stand and every single page I fill I do it because I would not have done it if he had not have died. And if my words, my grief, this strange outpouring of emotion on a website can make somebody out there feel a teeny less alone? That's from Cam. I've given out gifts and money to the people in this world on behalf of my brother. God I've had to hold on like nothing ever before. No safety harness. Just keep climbing. In awe of how hideous it is.

Grief rhymes with thief. And it is - oh it's stolen so much of me. Some parts never to be returned. Some parts of me got burnt in his cremation with him and the world will never see those parts of me ever again. They don't deserve to. My guy is gone.

But what the world WILL see, is a person who has faced intense, immense pressure to cave.

I know a few of you know how close I came to caving. But I didn't I just got caved in and now it's time to unearth myself because sometimes? I watch a slam poem on You Tube and my hairs stand on end the words get me so deeply and I want to do that, be that. I want the hairs on strangers arms to stand up when I talk. How do you do that? With truth. Recognition. Reassurance. Remembering ... we're all in it together. I'm in this together with you, you guys. In time from now somebody will find my website and my words and pore over every blogpost I pored over when I wrote out my grief. And they will find comfort. And because it's been 528 days ... I got a few breadcrumbs to spare, to show them the way out of the pain of the pain.

One day I want more than breadcrumbs. I want to own a bread factory and just bomb people houses, the people who sit inside weeping and keening for their lost ones and how do they go on?

They do. You do. I do. I will. I have decided to. I have decided to, from now on, when I write and think and talk about my brother Cameron - to honour him with memories of his warmth and love and humour and wit and intelligence and love - oh, his love. He had too much of it to give and he hardly got enough of it himself. Either did I - I always thought he'd make it through because - I just did. Because *I* did. But he was a white alpha male being played by "the patriarchy" in the same way we all are.

I wish he chose life. Wishes can blow me.

So my sweetheart I have started to worry that I have been tethering you to the earth with my pain and I don't want that for you my first guyo. Soar. Be free. Go. I'm cool. I got this. Maybe I am as strong as you said in your note - but maybe being strong is admitting how utterly scared and human and afraid you are. You did kind of cheat a bit and missed the ending of your own life so for all I know you've already been born again into a different family. May that family love every inch of who you are. And may you have a little freckle-faced red-haired LITTLE sister who YOU feel responsible for and every so often you look over and get the most peculiar sense of deja vu. May you look after her and love her like I loved you.

Nothing lasts forever. Not you, not me ... maybe our love. Our love came from somewhere nether.

You will teach me things for the rest of my life and I promise I will be open enough to learn from them. 528 days is NOTHING. You were alive for more than TWELVE THOUSAND DAYS. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being you even though you hated yourself so much. I need to let go of you a little bit, so I can survive. There will always be days for the rest of my life when I will keel over suddenly and keen and keen and keen and keen for you. You deserve it. Fuck I loved you with the very most purest parts of my heart. Always will.

So I don't know what I'll metamorphosis into next - but it will be for you. And for my other boys. But you were the first. You kept me alive. You showed me what love was by your mere existence.

I want you to know that I understand. I'm so proud of you. I'm letting you go so I can keep you. It doesn't make sense. Life is stupid - we both knew that.

For the rest of my life I want to find ways to celebrate your life, do things I never would have done if you had not killed yourself. I wish you didn't kill yourself. But you did. And I need to accept that to go on living.

I need to let you go. I love you so much, my Bam-Bam ... that I let you go.

Be free. Be free for me. Hell - be free for you. I have a feeling I will never see you again. That's ok. You just do what you need to do for you. That's all. That's all.

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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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