Life Support

When Stephan was taken off life support, my entire world collapsed   I’ve hit my head more times than I can count. I’ve had stitches and staples and am currently nursing a cranial hematoma that started out the size of a tennis ball. I feel guilty for being able to stephan playingsustain all these concussions while this person…who gave me life…fell down a flight of stairs and never woke up.

He was the most beautiful person I have ever met. I will never not miss our bar alley dances, surprise kisses, holiday living room picnics, being that “crazy chick in the audience,” shared pints of BB. I’ve been staring at my phone for hours, gathering the courage to delete his number. It has been recycled already but I just cannot press that trashcan.

Stephan died four months and five days ago. He was everything good in this world condensed into one normal human being. Every book and pamphlet I’ve read indicates I should be “normal” by now…and I am flailing. I would give my life to “beep” his nose again. I would sell my soul for one of his hugs. One cannot go back in time, but what I wouldn’t give to have gotten on that plane for my scheduled visit last December –maybe I would have been there; maybe he wouldn’t have been on that roof and fallen down those stairs. I bet he was smoking on the roof. What if he had quit smoking or never even started? So many “what if’s”….I can play that game all night long but it doesn’t change the fact that he was brain-functioning and happy on December 7th and had the plug pulled December 14th when his dad could get there from Belarus.

The idea of letting someone this important go was completely unfathomable. You do not img_1876know how you can survive pain like this until it is right there in your lap. It hurts to say his name and my heart is broken…but I’m breathing so I know I’m alive. Everyone says “It gets better”….but it doesn’t/hasn’t. Over four months later, it just hasn’t.   I only cry about once a day now except on the 7th and 14th of every month when I have a total meltdown. Grief chat rooms are totally pointless. I just gotta get through how I’m getting through. My dogs. My dog-ters give me life. I’m open to suggestions on how to process grief. Hit me up.

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4 thoughts on “Life Support

  1. Hey, there. This is your old school chaplain from way back when, and I hate that you are hurting so. Just know that you can count me as one who cares. How to process grief, you ask. It has a life and will of it’s own, an unwanted companion, ultimately a kind one, struggling to move you through to another side of life. It will be on its own timetable–yours–no one else’s, as you rage, weep, laugh, and run the range of emotions left in the wake of your loss. Feel the emotions. They will take you down before they take up you again. Hang in there with them. What helps? I know it sounds crazy, but do the next thing. Every day. Whatever that is. Waking up. Feeding the pets. Taking a walk. Writing. Whatever it is for you. Routine is like a handrail. Not a cure all, but a small coping skill while your body does the hard work of processing grief. Hanging in there with you, Rev. Marian+

    Liked by 1 person

  2. hi again, kaitlin.
    just checking in here for the very reasons that u articulated so well in this entry, since u and i have a mutual connection in stephan.

    once again, your words resonate. everything u wrote rings true.

    it helps me by reading your recollections, and remembering stephan and those moments revolving around music and nitelife that we loved so much. i hope it helps u in some way to know that there’s someone else who knows what those times meant, and can relate to what you’re feeling.

    hope u feel better, both physically, and in dealing with this.

    take care,
    patrick (pj)

    Like

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