Three months, came and went. Without a mention of his name, or a whisper of who he was. It came and went as if he never existed, as if he were right –that it wouldn’t matter now that he was gone. Except that it does matter. It did matter, and it always will matter.
Except that, as time slowly ticks by –he is forgotten. By everyone. I am expected, in a sense, to forget him as well. To move on. To not remember. To ignore. Because this loss? Isn’t mine. It isn’t for me. It isn’t about me.
To anyone else –he was just another boy. Another number. Statistic. He wasn’t closely related to me, therefore, the loss is not mine. While it isn’t said in those words –it is implied. Heavily. In the tones of voice and change of attitude. He was just my nephew. But as the numbness gives way to the intense pain that comes from losing someone –I am reminded, painfully, that he was more. So much more. Yet I don’t have the words to say this.
My heart skips to an irregular beat, my head spins with memories that shouldn’t belong to me. My mind, filled with should haves, could haves, would haves –is silenced. The pain I feel is not warranted.
Why would I seek out help –when I know there is none?
I am not afraid to admit that I am not strong enough to be rejected, once again. Friends have returned to their otherwise busy lives, and stopped asking –mere days after he died. It was as if there was a silent relief that filled their minds…because finally, I could stop talking about him. Finally, I could just admit that he was a lost cause. Finally, I could return to ‘normal’ –except…
He wasn’t a lost cause, and there is no normal.
He was hurting. He, among countless others –was not given the help he needed. The help that everyone says is there –but isn’t. The help that is ‘just a phone call away’ is too far. Especially when you are hurting that badly. When you can barely keep your head above the water –there is no point in making a phone call, because you just cannot handle the rejection –again. All over. Once more.
I have searched just about every avenue I can, looking for something –someone –to relate to. But instead I am met with empty doors, and silenced friends. As harsh as it sounds – I cannot bear to hear their happy news. I do not want to know how well their children are doing, or how successful their job is. I don’t want to hear how great their lives are –because it contrasts just how horrible mine is. It isn’t that I do this to be mean, or selfish –it’s just that the hole in my heart from losing ‘just my nephew’ is so large –I cannot fathom that anything good can be happening.
I don’t need people to fall over backwards, I don’t need people to say his name everyday –but a simple acknowledgment –really could do wonders.
Tell me you remember him. That he wasn’t a lost cause. That his life mattered. That he was important. Tell me that he didn’t die in vain. Tell me that you don’t know what to say. Tell me anything –just don’t ignore the gaping hole that has swallowed me alive, and expect me to acknowledge the goodness that has surrounded you.
Because I am just barely keeping my head above the water…
…and don’t know how much longer I can.