foreverjustfornow

[foreverjustfornow]

People tell you grief won’t heal with time, but it will shift. You’ll learn how to deal with it. It will be less frequently.

And it wasn’t a lie. Nobody ever told me how my grief would change though. All those songs and poems about grief… they are mostly about fresh grief. The one where you wonder how you can go on.

But I know how to go on, because I’ve done it. It’s been 8years and I haven’t moved on, but I’ve kept moving.

Now I suddenly wonder more and more what it would be like if I hadn’t had to do that. If you were still here, what would that be like? And I’m heartbroken to find that I don’t really have an answer.

It’s been so long, we’ve grown around the loss of you, mum. And I think I would have grown quite different with you instead of this loss in my life. I’d be somewhere else, someone else. And I cannot figure out who and what that would be like.

I can’t remember what it was like to just coexist with you in the same house. Just daily mundane togetherness. Because that requires taking the togetherness for granted and now that I know your loss it’s impossible for me.

Mum, I’m so sorry. I barely remember what having a mother felt like in day to day life. I look at other people my age and older and wonder when they describe their mothers. This Podcaster surprised her mum with tickets to a concert. My roommates are talking about what to gift their mums for their birthdays. Your birthday is coming up too and I feel a pain in my heart and I don’t make any plans for your birthday.

It’s on a Thursday, this year, so I’ll go to ballet class I suppose. Recently I wished I could go to an adult ballet class with you. I wouldn’t mind doing a beginners one with you.

I wonder how often we would talk. Dad only ever calls when I ask him to. I hope we would speak multiple times a week. Maybe you wouldn’t want to call too much, because you wouldn’t want to annoy me. I hope you would call as much as you wanted though.

I want to tell you about everything. Want to hear about you. What you’re working on. What your childhood was like. What your time at uni was like. What you think of me.

What would you think of me? I’m so different now, and yet disappointingly haven’t changed at all. What would you say if I told you I don’t want a boyfriend. What would you say if I told you I don’t want a girlfriend. What would you say to me?

I know you loved me so. I know I know I know. It’s not enough, but it has to be.

I miss you so, I love you so. You’re gone and I remember you, of course I do, but I barely remember having you here, just like that.

Nobody ever quite told me what that feels like. And it’s pain and guilt and resignation. I already know how to go on. But perhaps I’m tired of it, of realising that going on is a process that I will have to grapple with for the rest of my life, because it’s ever-changing.

#grief #loss #trauer #there’s so much more I want to say #but how can you put it all in words? #when it’s so encompassing and contrary

[foreverjustfornow]

if a friend is experiencing/has experienced a loss and is grieving, and you don't have any experience in the arena of loss, please allow me to offer some advice on navigating conversations about the deceased loved one.

not every mention of their person is the saddest part of their day. sometimes saying "this was their favorite song" "oh they would have LOVED this" "God I wish they could hear the conversation happening at the next table" "I wish they were here" is lighthearted. the mention of their person can be joyful. or melancholic. or, of course, sad. it can be all of those things at once. but no matter, react to the sentiments as just another piece of the conversation.

you don't need to drop a 55 pound weight onto the conversation and stare at us in pity or silently stare in a combination of confusion and discomfort and sadness.

it's okay. we know they're dead. you acknowledging that in an equal state of nonchalantness will not shock us to death, it's not tasteless or crude. it's a relief. our dead people are still parts of our lives just like anything else, and giving your loved ones the space and comfort and safety to talk about their person is huge.

you can always respond by asking to hear more, by mimicking their tone. your friend laughs and says "they would have LOVED this", take it as a chance to learn why! was their favorite color yellow? did they love kitschy little throw pillows? did they utterly DESPISE kitschy throw pillows? are they referencing a specific story?

if they see someone that looks like their person and get a little sad, ask what reminds them of their person. what was their favorite feature of their person? does it make them mostly sad to see someone who looks like their person? did it make them feel a little bit happy for a moment?

we want to talk about our deceased loved ones. we yearn to mention people who shaped us. the way our society has conditioned us to behave around grief, to respond to the grieving, and to grieve ourselves is so backwards and void of empathy, so we often don't say what we wish we could say. (bell hooks has a wonderful chapter on this in all about love, new visions (ch 11))

by offering opportunities for people to reminisce you are truly making an impact and fostering a safe environment for those around you to grieve in ways we're often not offered.

[foreverjustfornow]

thinking about this

[foreverjustfornow]

a you-shaped hole in the universe Celia Paul, Ocean Vuong, Owen Gent, Alejandra Pizarnik (trans. Yvette Siegert), Karman Verdi, Edna St Vincent Millay

[foreverjustfornow]

There was a candle in the hospital.

I barely remember it, aside from it being there, inside a lantern in front of your hospital room.

When Papa picked me up from school I knew immediately you were gone. I’d been preparing for that moment for such a long time by that point. (And also for such little time. Sometimes I remember that it was only like a week of going from school to the hospital and it always floors me. It must have been months or years the way it made me feel.)

But when he picked me up I barely knew how to react. I felt quite numb, I felt like I forced myself to cry.

And then my cousin drove me and dad to the hospital. I remember the drive. I don‘t remember walking from the car into the hospital or to the palliative unit.

I do remember the candle in front of your room. And for a second, I wondered what it did there. Until I realised somebody put it there for you. Which made it feel that more real suddenly. I stopped walking and started crying again, because I needed to arrest time then and there.

I guess it was like Schroedinger‘s cat, only I knew what was inside. But until I didn’t enter your room it wasn’t real yet. That candle made me realise it and to this day, I see candles in lanterns and then I think of standing on that hospital floor, not ready to go inside your room and say goodbye yet.

I don’t think if left the choice I ever would have been ready. My aunt must have heard me crying though, because she opened the door from inside and I was ushered in, the opposite of what I tried to achieve by crying.

It’s weird, Mama. I‘m now on the other side of those candles. We had a patient dying today at the ICU. They talked about finding a candle for him. I thought of standing in front of your candle and wishing nobody ever put up any candles anywhere.

#grief #loss #trauer #but I guess it’s still a beautiful tradition #and other people might remember those candles differently than I do #more fondly perhaps

[foreverjustfornow]

So still und so verloren gingst du fort

Ich hab' so viel gehört und doch kommt's niemals bei mir an

Das ist der Grund, warum ich nachts nicht schlafen kann

Wenn ich auch 1000 Lieder vom Vermissen schreib'

Heißt das noch nicht, dass ich versteh'

Warum dieses Gefühl für immer bleibt

#grief #loss #trauer

[foreverjustfornow]

“… als Stille bei uns wohnte anstatt dir.”

Jupiter Jones - Still

#grief #loss #trauer

[foreverjustfornow]

Well, my dad isn’t going to come visit me during my exchange semester. I’m disappointed, but not surprised. There’s barely a month left and I know how busy he is. But I’m still fucking hurt.

He took trips with his buddies, is going to a concert with my uncle. He had plenty of time to plan, I was here for six months. And still, he won’t make it.

All other students I’ve been talking to had multiple friends visit, and their parents and other family members. Somehow, nobody’s ever coming for me. Okay, that’s a dramatic lie; one friend will visit me.

Still though, I’m fucking upset over it. I always have to be the one to reach out, to make the effort. Asking him if he has time to talk on the phone, reminding him about potentially visiting only for him to never come.

I wish for once he would reach out, would show up

#I love my dad #and I know he loves me #and he’s done a lot for me and still does so #but that is one thing that keeps hurting me #I’m not surprised #I kinda expected him not to come #it just hurts even more hearing about everyone else and their family

[foreverjustfornow]

The future scares me shitless right now.

For the first time I‘m really realising what it means to work as a doctor. How you basically have no time for anything else in your life and that is not something I want.

How I‘m already feeling lonely at the end of a long work week, when the only interaction has been with other medical professionals or patients. But now I can still meet up with friends, now I can still live with flatmates.

At some point, they might marry though and start families and I will become less and less of a priority. I won’t ever fall in love, I don’t think. So what will there be for me?

#I‘m trying to talk to my dad about it #but he did the whole medicine was the only thing in his life for over twenty years #and he thinks that it would be nice if that wasn’t the case for future docs anymore #but when I complain about his attitude is still so what #and he had a wife who took care of his kids #he had a family and support even during that time #and it must have been rough still #but he doesn’t get that I don’t think that’s in my future for me #the future is just so bleak looking to me right now #and I‘m tired

[foreverjustfornow]

You know Mama, when I had to pick which France city to apply to, I was drawn to this one because of you.

We visited it one time, almost a decade ago now, and here I am making life decisions based on it.

From the list - aside from Paris, but I was too small to remember much - it was the only French city we‘ve ever been to together.

And I felt like I had to return. Just like I picked my home university in Germany based on it being the place I was born in. We spent ten years there together, so I had to return.

I keep searching out these places, Mama. Again and again I‘m drawn to them. To know we both once walked these streets, it’s pain and beauty. And I wonder why I do it and I wonder what I‘ll do once I will have to go somewhere where that hasn’t been the case.

I miss you. I wish you could be here with me.

#grief #loss

[foreverjustfornow]

Time is… so difficult to grasp.

I want to write a letter to grandma and tell her about my exchange semester here. And I thought I should write about missing you, because who else can understand my pain better than your mother?

I miss you when walking these streets. I miss you when looking at the little shops. I remember the time we visited here with L. The three of us, exploring the town.

The thing is, when trying to explain to grandma, I wanted to tell her that it was a few years ago. But you’ve been gone for seven years now, Mama. That trip we took, it must have been almost a decade ago now. To my grandma, this might only be a few years, but to me it’s half of my life.

I cannot grasp this at all. How are you so far away from me now

#grief #loss

[foreverjustfornow]

She was my champion, she was my archive. She had taken the utmost care to preserve the evidence of my existence and growth, capturing me in images, saving all my documents and possessions. She had all knowledge of my being memorized. The time I was born, my unborn cravings, the first book I read. The formation of every characteristic. Every ailment and little victory. She observed me with unparalleled interest, inexhaustible devotion.

Now that she was gone, there was no one left to ask about these things. The knowledge left unrecorded died with her. What remained were documents and my memories, and now it was up to me to make sense of myself, aided by the signs she left behind. How cyclical and bittersweet for a child to retrace the image of their mother. For a subject to turn back to document their archivist.

— Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart

[foreverjustfornow]

I miss you more when life gets tough.

And it feels right and wrong. There’s guilt in me, because I always expected the seventh anniversary to be particularly hard, and in some ways it was. But at the same time I didn’t feel as destabilised by it as in other years.

A lot of the time it doesn’t pain me to think of you. It’s a fact of life now, that you are gone. Of course, it will always be unfair and awful to me. But it’s not as agonising anymore, not as often.

And then shit hits the fan and suddenly I just want to talk to you, hug you and hear that you love me. And it makes me feel even more guilty, because I appreciated you for more things in my life than just for those moments. I miss your laughter and your jokes, the way you would annoy me and the way you would charm people, only to turn around and complain about socialising.

But it’s true, Mama. Life is difficult right now and I wish you were here to guide me through it.

And once I get out on the other side, I wish you were here to celebrate with me

#I think there’s also guilt because I miss Papa too #I can call him up #but I still think I miss him #I wish I could call you as well #one phone call to heaven please #not sure if I believe in heaven #but I desperately wish there’s a place for us to meet again #i love you mama #grief #loss

[foreverjustfornow]

My memory is a broken sieve. Everything falls through and I very desperately try to hold it close, but it doesn‘t stick.

When I was young you were sick and I imagine it must have been awful, but I‘ll be honest. I barely remember it at all. I like to tell myself my mind did that to protect me from traumatic memories.

I desperately want these memories back, because I’ve got so little of you. And they are part of my story too aren’t there? Don’t I deserve to know?

I also don’t want to remember, because I‘m scared to find out that all those carefree memories I have of that time about school are the only truth. That I wasn‘t that affected, that I didn‘t care as much as I care now. That I didn‘t love you right.

I hate that in my grief I never stopped to write down the memories I had of you before the cancer came back. It seems I avoided remembering and when I did it was mostly the awful time.

I only got fourteen years with you.

It’s funny in the most awful way that I don‘t remember you being sick the first time and that the memories of you being sick the second time are perhaps the clearest I have.

It’s funny in a sick way, because both those facts mean I feel like I have awfully little memories of you.

Young me‘s memories don‘t feature you enough and older me‘s are awfully overwritten by the sickness.

I‘m sorry Mama. I love you in ways I cannot fathom to explain. I feel like I failed you. I wish my memories of you were as clear as my grief for them.

#grief #loss

[foreverjustfornow]

I wish I could believe in a life after death more easily, because I so desperately need to see you again, to be held by you again. To hold you.

#grief #the idea that I‘ll never be with my mum again breaks me #but at the same time my mind is… too skeptical? idk

[foreverjustfornow]

“Oh, you know, you realize that grief is perhaps the last and final translation of love. And I think, you know, this is the last act of loving someone. And you realize that it will never end. You get to do this, to translate this last act of love for the rest of your life. And so, you know, it's– really, her absence is felt every day.

“And ever since I lost her, I felt that my life has been lived in only two days, if that makes any sense. You know, there's the today, where she is not here, and then the vast and endless yesterday where she was, even though it's been three years since. How many months and days? But I only see it in — with one demarcation. Two days — today without my mother, and yesterday, when she was alive. That's all I see. That's how I see my life now.”

-Ocean Vuong, NPR

[foreverjustfornow]

That night, lying beside her, I remembered how when I was a child I would slip my cold feet between my mother's thighs to warm them. How she'd shiver and whisper that she would always suffer to bring me comfort, that that was how you knew someone really loved you. I remembered the boots she'd broken in so that by the time I got them I could go on unbothered, without harm. Now, more than ever, I wished desperately for a way to transfer pain, wished I could prove to my mother just how much I loved her, that I could just crawl into her hospital cot and press my body close enough to absorb her burden. It seemed only fair that life should present such an opportunity to prove one's filial piety. That the months my mother had been a vessel for me, her organs shifting and cramping together to make room for my existence, and the agony she'd endured upon my exit could be repaid by carrying this pain in her place. The rite of an only daughter. But I could do no more than lie nearby, ready to be her advocate, listening to the slow and steady beeping of machinery, the soft sounds of her breathing in and out.

Crying in H Mart - Michelle Zauner