Jeremy,
It’s been a full month since the last time I heard you breathe. I remember our goodbye, though it was not a goodbye in the conventional sense of the word. It happened a few days before you actually left your body. After that you were asleep and all I could do was talk to you and watch others have their last moments with you.
I kept my promise. I was with you till your very last breath with my hand caressing your head just as you asked me to be “if you ever died first” randomly one night last year, before you ever knew you were sick. Your subconscious knew something we didn’t.
It’s painfully true the world keeps spinning. I still have to do so many normal things all the time. Rent doesn’t care you died, credit cards don’t care, things need to be done by certain dates and people/systems expect me to get up and get them done. Don’t they all know MY world stopped spinning?
And it makes me wonder how many people I have encountered in my life not knowing that were going through a fresh version of grief that could have used more compassion.
We had the 80’s themed celebration of life you wanted. Though you already knew that. I’m pretty sure you were supremely proud of the outfit I wore. And the reason I am sure is because I only had to try on one thing when I went shopping with our friends. You know I'm not usually that decisive. I think you made it easier for me and just led me to that silver polka dotted top with the shoulder pads. You knew I had a slight meltdown before stepping into the shop and didn’t have the strength or patience for a whole day of shopping didn’t you? But those earrings I wore that said “fuck this shit”, those were own my personal touch.
Nothing feels safe anymore. I knew how lucky I was to be with someone that made me feel so incredibly safe, but I didn’t think about how it would feel to lose that sense of safety. The kind that makes sure you made it home ok, talks to you on the phone if you’re walking somewhere in the dark, is right next to you at night when you hear a strange noise and will go investigate it no matter the hour. Most importantly, the kind that comes with unconditional, unwavering, never wandering love. And arms wrapped around you tight. That safety of knowing someone has your back one thousand percent in this life in a way only an amazing partner can.
My phone is my enemy. It keeps recycling old photos of us. I didn’t think my phone would some day become a carousel of memories that bring me to my knees. And if I ever did imagine it, I imagined myself old and wrinkled next to you lamenting over all the places we got to go, and all versions of this life we saw together.
I read a quote today by Norman Lear “Even this I get to experience”. I think it was probably meant to inspire awe even in the darker colors of life. But I thought, let's see, I’ve experienced the loss of my grandparents, the loss of friends, the loss of a father, of a father in law, the loss of a child, and now the loss of my husband and best friend, all in these early years of this life of mine. I feel like amending that quote. In an old Jewish lady Brooklyn accent, with my hands shaking at the sky, “even THIS I have to experience?”
I'm letting the world in on what I’m going through in fragments through my substack. Though you knew that cause you were so proud of me that you were my first yearly subscriber. Always the biggest supporter of everything I did. I oscillate between feeling cringe telling people publicly about some of my most private thoughts, and between feeling like my writing is my last lifeline and I can only write what is true to me. It’s what I’ve always done with my music. Randomly picking some other story to tell people now would feel like choking back my tears when they sneak up on me in the middle of a grocery store or literally anywhere and everywhere I go all the time.
I know you’re somewhere laughing about how I can’t bear to leave Australia now. I spent so long struggling with the idea of moving here some day and now the idea of leaving is suffocating. Every accent is yours, every upward inflection, joke, pair of thongs (flip flops for you American folk) and boardies (board shorts) reminds me of you. Things I used to roll my eyes at make me smile or cry. Every time I see one of your friends, talk to your mom, or your sister Leanne, I breathe a sigh of relief. They are extensions of you and your life that are still living here on earth.
And then there is the ocean. The ocean who’s color you borrowed for your lifetime of blue eyes. I can’t look at the Pacific ocean without seeing your eyes. Thank god for that. You loved that ocean so fiercely you gave it your last effort. Watching your friends and family grant your wish and carry you into the water was such an act of love. The water was cold, but then you always loved that. You were just three nights shy of the end of your life that day. We didn’t know it that morning, but by the time you got home from your last big effort, from your last time leaving the house, I could tell my fears were coming true. The effort was big. Too big, and you were tired now. Forever tired.
You wouldn’t have had it any other way. Stepping into that ocean was like the final signature on a contract for you. Your life contract. It was your last baptism. You weren't religious, but I always said the ocean was your religion. I used to joke that maybe you were a merman in your last life. You needed to see the ocean or submerge your whole body, head to toe, in it as often as you could. One could argue the ocean was one of the loves of your life. She got your last big lucid embrace, really. I am not jealous, because I had all the others. I wanted nothing more than to give you every single thing you wanted. I would go anywhere, live wherever you wanted forever, if you would just come back.
Sometimes I forget that it's not physically possible. And that’s because I believe in magic. It’s hard to remember that right now, but I do. My version of magic is that I know you’re still around. I’ve felt it and I’ve seen it and it brings me great comfort except when I talk to you and you can’t talk back. I keep waiting for a voice to come whispering or for you to talk to me in my dreams. I believe so fiercely that we don’t leave. I have convinced myself that one day your spirit will appear in the kitchen and have a cup of tea with me and tell me all the amazing things you’ve seen from your new point of view. You’ll tell me how much you miss me too. Though I truly hope you don’t feel the loss of us being together the way I do. Because no one deserves to be with this sorrow after living with disease.
One day when I am strong enough I will find a way to shine some light on that stupid version of the C word that robbed you of your time. I will help raise money and awareness. Because no one deserves this. But right now I don't know where I am going or what to do. All I can do is this, once in a while. And while I am in this state, I wish I could wear some sort of sign across my forehead or back that reads “Gut Renovation underway”. So people might not be surprised if they see me crying out my insides in aisle nine of a Woolworths when I come across your favorite lemon cordial. Gut Renovations are painful and long lasting, even if you end up with a beautiful new home when it’s all said and done. X
Please keep writing. Thank you for sharing your pain and words. Profound.
Thinking of you
We love you