my famous last words (not famous but very much my last)

I'm back in New York City and to crying every day.

his last breath. here.
I hold my breath. and my tears.
it's life. my cross. for now. i pray.

Today I became so desperate to be close to him that, at one o'clock in the morning, I drove to the place where he died. I sat in my car, across the street from the building in which he took his last breath, and cried. What a common and unspecial place to lose one's life, I thought, when my tears had dried. Not that death waits for a dramatic backdrop until it strikes, but, this place was nothing you would want to look at for an extended period of time. J was cremated so I don't have a tombstone to visit. His ashes are in my house. Why, then, do I yearn for a shrine or a place to go "meet" him?

I miss him so f*in much.

My death wish comes and goes these days. Yes, I am more functional now. I couldn't even imagine thinking about work a few months ago but, now, I can sit down and focus even when my heart aches or my mind wanders to memories of him. I am contradicting myself. How can one focus and at the same time think of something else? That makes no sense.

Sometimes there comes a moment at which I relapse to week one, a time so dark that I just want to tear my own heart out and die. I know, this is how grief works. A back and forth between getting better and being thrown into any one of the stages of grief. -- Today, it was guilt and anger. Guilt about the fact that I told the man I love and would have never left to "get the F out of my house and never come back" because I was angry and tired and feeling hopeless about whether he would ever find a way out of his addiction. BUT WHO SAYS SUCH A THING??! ...
"Get the f* out of my house and never come back! You heard me! Never!!"
These were my exact LAST words to him.
-- Oh, God .... somebody heard me ... that's for sure. :/

Be mindful about the things you say to your significant other...or your child...or anyone you love. You may never get another chance to take it back. Never.

Another thing that haunts me is the fact that on one or two occasions of morbid self reflection I had thought to myself that I would probably never be able to leave him, regardless of whether he cleaned up or not. "Let's face it, S, this is til death do you part," I told myself. "The only way this cycle will ever end is if he dies. Because he will always come back and you will always let him, for this man has your _unconditional_ love."

The mourning doves are gone. The signs of comfort are fading. I know, it means that it is time to walk on my own but I don't know if I'm ready, yet. I miss him so much. It hurts so f--in much. I can't stop crying.

... Maybe I must leave New York. I think, I've said that already in an earlier post. Sometimes you know the solution but it's just not that simple to apply it.


One of J's favorites songs ... playing as I write this:

Mumford and Sons -- White Blank Page