Michaels' death by his own hand last year has become even more of an enigmae to me as time passes on. The 'schedule' for grief in all elses' eyes but those who understand is over for me, I should have taken the black off on September 4. And here it is 3 days after what would have been Michaels' 25th birthday, and I'm not FINISHED, not even close. So what is going to happen to me? Why is it so painful to engage again, in anything. Why is time making it worse and not better?

However I still believe that suicide is an accident; a result of an illness called depression: clinical depression, often untreated. Mike didn't want to die in his heart of hearts, and I know he never EVER would have wanted me to feel the pain that I feel now. It isn't subsiding, and anyone who says time heals has got to remember that each individual connection with another has its worlds of uniqueness, and with Mike and I there was something that we couldn't ever put down in words, but that others could sometimes sense but hardly ever know completely why I loved him and he, I: Hence, the inability for those of us to be told to let go. No matter who it is, intimately known or not-so-well known, it doesn't matter when suicide hits. For even those we "barely" know can influence our lives greatly, turn us on a coin into a new way of seeing ourselves, help us to be turned anew in a direction more meaningful than before. So it angers me when those who think they have the answers put down even the "minutest" of connections between people when suicide happens, in order to denigrate our need to further recognize the sacredness of all human action, in order to get on with "business".

At this writing I am struggling to survive myself. I often feel that it is a high accomplishment to clean house. I sometimes wonder if I also am putting Michael in too high a place now that he is "gone". I wonder if I'm making all this pain up in order to be able to get the rest I've needed for years. No, NO, and NO. But I think those things. I would bet that many survivors struggle with the violent web-circle of thoughts applying to the "how I should act's", the "how will I be perceived if..'s", the "what is MY problem, I can't seem to get out of this rut", et al...

All normal thoughts, in my opinion, whatever direction or unique form they may take....

But for me, the "What Now?" is tearing me apart. Even though I know Mike is still with me, I find it excruciating to think of the days, which have already turned into one year, turning into years and years. My mind cannot comprehend, my heart feels dead, and I feel isolated and alone like never before. Even my relatives cannot possibly understand---and it's not their fault. It is impossible to bring up forth into the light the depression I feel and the anger at a life that could take Mike and others to their end. I am disgusted by the pressures in todays' world. Anyone who says that pressure is not exclusively a part of the last 50 years has got to take another look.

Michael is with me at all times, it seems. Someone asked me why I cannot put it in the past. I replied that there isn't a magic wand out there anywhere that could just snap it right away, and further, how insensitive, yet an attempt to be sensitive. Another person told me I should just find another guy and get pregnant and have a family, since my mom loves kids. And then yet another comment: "Molly, you've got to get out of the car, pause, get back in the car and drive on."

If there is a reason for it all, why do I feel so without any sense of resolution.

Michael will be a part of me always. I have got to stay in order to help others with this. I have thought about using my art as a technique of helping the suicidal and for those having to deal with loss. He wants me to do something like that, I believe. Yet I haven't the money, nor the energy. Images relentlessly pound my heart of the time Before, and the Time after.
 

i love you so much.  shantih, sweetheart.

Today is September 30, 1998.  Last year at this time I was flying home after being finally told about Michael.  It is barely over 365 days since he died, and my mind rolls in circles around the thoughts of what I was doing, how I was feeling so numb, as I landed in Boise after a two day trip that spanned half the globe.  I was very numb, so numb that all else seemed to fail me except for the fact that my system kicked me into overdrive.  I was in autopilot, and I feel still like I am somewhere else.  Nothing mattered, nor seems to matter, like it did Before.  And in some ways that is good.  My spiritual self has grown.  I believe without doubt of a higher purpose.  I don't believe death is anything but a transition.  But it seems that even though I have learned so much from this grief and pain, there now is really not as much in it as I thought there would be to help me get through life into the future.  My reality has been severely distorted, and the one-year limit is up, according to "them".  What now.

A person sent me a letter this past week with seemingly good intentions.  Talking about God and about the trials of others in my life and how they "compare" to mine.  And how I should be "moved on".  It was from a dear person to me, and I became very angry and even further betrayed by life in reading its holier-than-thou content.  I felt like 'if only I'd go to church, then I'd be ok"--that was the sense I received underlying the words.  I don't have to go to church to be with God, I thought.  I am with the Great Spirit, God, or whomever we'd like to call It, every day.  In my love for others and my love for Michael, and in my forgiveness.  I felt stabbed once again by this persons' lack of understanding or even perceiving my situation.  Sure, what Michael and I have is and was between the two of us, but I felt myself groping for even a word of comfort such as "you are okay Molly for where you are at, and I may not understand the pain but I accept it as something you must go through".  Not a word or an intention that way, it seemed.

How many of us are crippled by this kind of cloaked "loving kindness"?  Especially in the case of suicide and mental illness.  I felt like calling this person and getting angry, but then I thought, no, alienation is what I feel and this person would probably not be able to be on my level, see eye to eye, and therefore it isn't much worth wasting my energy.  That is how I feel with most of my family, and yes there are some people, especially ones out there suffering the same loss, who can see right into my heart, and for that I am eternally grateful, but few are those "closest" to me who see into my soul and are able to understand that the loss of my soul companion by his own hand has nearly killed me too.  AND IF I HEAR "ATTITUDE IS A CHOICE" ONE MORE TIME, I AM GOING TO SCREAM.  Or worse.  That Gem was in the letter described also.  "Attitude is a choice, Molly".

So I'm the deficient one, it seems.  This life feels like The Truman Show.  The way people act, even those that you love.  Jim Carrey finally stepped off the fake stage, walked up those stairs, and took the door out, not looking back.

"Indian, Indian what did you die for? Indian says, 'nothing at all'"

January 31-February 1,1999. A Blue moon, and almost seventeen months. I used to think Jim Morrison was too obsessed with death, his words quoted above have rung through my head lately with almost incessant presence. I hear "Indian Summer" ringing in my ears and a vision of you and I dancing in the middle of the living room, without shoes, a closeness I thought I'd never feel to another in this life.  My heart and mind now travel deserts shrouded in heavy blackness. Apparently what 'they' say about grief, any kind of grief, is a barrel of horseshit. Time only makes it worse, with its illusions and escape from a past in which you were present-an escape I don't want, a trap I'd rather stay in somehow, a place that is safe filled with you, your life, a place that doesn't take me further into whatever future must pillage itself on my broken heart, soul.

ma jednou laskou se narodil 21.zari.1973, a tragickou smrti 04.zari.1997. Ja miluje te pro vsechno cas, muj zlatickou, muj laskou

September 12, 1999...the two year anniversary last weekend was unbearable. it is becoming more and more clear that i will have to go through the rest of this life without your presence. for a while, it seemed like an illusion, and that in time the haze would clear, and you'd be here, we'd have a chance to settle on a future, and maybe we'd even have a child. i guess life is meant as one big, excruciating lesson. i miss you terribly. there are moments, especially when i'm trying to go to sleep, when i get a terror. my heart disintegrates into a scream, and my body lunges as if the ground has fallen out from underneath me. i get a flash of realization, the one of your gunshot and i begin to panic. panic hard. the images of you, snippets of all the times, how i saw you, driving on those road trips, eating, combing your wet hair after morning showers, making those wc fields faces, they all come to me and make me feel even worse in the panic. its a feeling as if there is no corner of the universe in which i might find solace. its a feeling that the chances for peace and a life well-lived have left and what remains is a shadow reflecting only past hopes and times of joy.

After all you've given me, while in this life, and now from beyond, all the lessons you've shared with me, and the connection and depth of our love, I should be nothing but thankful. I am lucky that we ever had time here, together. Some people go through their lives never knowing the depth we did, and do. Some people aren't lucky enough to have the knowledge that, without doubt, there truly is another soul that can see into the window of their heart's night. You were a kaleidoscope Michael, and your lens was my vision. I should be thankful.

And yet.... I find it very hard to function in this life, Michael. I really want to be able to live for the both of us, and I know that is what my life could be: a tribute and living memorial to our continuing bond. I hope that I have helped you by continuing on, and I hope as your Girl forever I'll make you smile. I love you so much. And 'say it again and again' by Coltrane goes out to you on this September evening, and I'm waiting to dance with you in the silence of the coming dusk.

The things I loved most about you, Mike:

you were absolutely honest

you loved deeply with all your being

your sensitivity

your talent with pottery

the way you held my hand

how it made me feel to know that you were coming home soon

the love you had of all living things; the care you took of plants, animals. the fascination you had of nature.

your dedication to anything you started; to anything you believed in, and the pain it caused you when those you loved most couldn't believe in you for some of the things you loved most.

the nights we cried together

the way you'd baby any cat, and called our cat "little man"

how you imitated Jim Carrey's "fireman Bill" ("lemme tell ya somethin", "how about a little ssssssaaakkk-hhhh-eee"

the days you'd be sitting on the sunporch waiting for me to get home from work, sometimes with a cigar, and sometimes with a book.

your immense heart

your gentle heart, soul

your innocence and deep insight amidst an alienating and hard life

the way you hugged me as if you'd never let me go.

I Love You, Michael; may your dreams and mine meet somewhere between the days of my sleep and your waking, for I love you as I always did even before our days became a parallel on this earth.