The leap year has been screwing me up pretty good this time around, specifically with respect to when things happened. But a year ago yesterday, I buried my brother. It has weighed heavy in my mind this past week. We’ve achieved some amazing new milestones, but the entire way has been rough and shows very little signs of getting any easier. So while Thursday and Friday were the days that drummed up the feelings, it was actually Saturday and Sunday that were the actual dates..
A year ago yesterday, many of you gathered around me. Around a freshly-dug hole. Our collective thought: “This cannot be.” If you had listed the people most likely to kill themselves, I am pretty sure David wasn’t on your list.
I stared out at all of you. Devastated, exhausted, you placed your flowers on the coffin, and you just stood there looking at me. I remember thinking all of these people… all of these people, and not one of us could provide for David the tools he needed to make it one more day. I thought to myself, “What in the hell could I say, what words could I possibly put together that would make all of your pain and suffering a little less? How could I shoulder the loss you were feeling?” Part of me wanted to just walk away, to not say a thing, but when I looked out, I saw all the faces, the names—some familiar, some just acquaintances—each one hurting in their own way.
I remember thinking all these people are going to go home and, slowly but surely, they will go back to their regularly-scheduled programming. For me, though, and a select few, this was merely closing the books on the funeral portion of the day—it was time to move on to the “After Funeral Party.” A party that no one wanted to attend.
The rest of the night was magical. There was so many stories shared, so many laughs. David’s purple tie bouquet was leaning against the tree. Cries were shared, songs listened to, a life celebrated. New relationships were solidified, old transgressions were forgiven.
The whole time, though, I just found myself repeating to myself: This Cannot Be. This Cannot Be. This Cannot Be.
A year later, and very little has changed. As I hit these anniversaries, I try to come to terms—to accept what has happened. I can’t, I won’t. I’m too stubborn. I look all around and see all the pictures of David and just pretend as best I can that he’s just over at his apartment doing David things.
I’m not sure I am ever going to accept what happened. To fully admit to myself that David is gone. In fact, I am fighting every day to keep him alive. To remind you of the avoidable loss we all endured, and continue to endure. I find myself looking for new ways to keep telling the same story, to tell the stories of who he was and what he was capable of, and the impact he had on so many people’s lives so that you tell his story as well.
A year ago yesterday… I stared out looking at all of your faces, with that same disbelief.
