So Liz is gone.
It finally happened.
I've been waiting for a long time now and I'm not unhappy that it happened, because it was always going to and now she's not in pain, now we aren't all waiting on tenterhooks for the final eventuality that was always certain, even when everything else wasn't.
I feel very shaky, mentally at least, like I don't know what to do. I can't tell anyone yet, and I won't upload this until after I can, so this is just in preparation. I don't feel different, considering the fact that Liz's consciousness, her own little body with it's infinite mind is no longer out there somewhere, ticking away. I thought that would scare me more. I thought the love would be gone, like if two people hold onto a rope and pull as hard as they can and suddenly the rope is cut at one end, I thought it would suddenly drop, and be done.
I thought that it would be like when you break up with someone and you know you'll never be able to see them or talk to them again, the relationship is completely void and for nothing, but it doesn't feel like that at all. I still know she loved me and I love her, I know those feelings exist, as long as I'm still here to comprehend them, maybe even longer. It's all static now, but it's like a good book, you can still hold it and touch it and reread it, even though the story is done. It's still tangible and you don't regret reading a book just because it's over.
I'm going to miss her of course, and I miss all the things we were supposed to have done together. I'm going to miss her texts, and her picking me up and telling her when I do things of note, and bragging to her, and ranting to her when I was fighting with friends and she'd always take my side.
She's not going to be able to do that stuff for me anymore.
I don't want her to be a side note in my history, the way married couples eventually learn all of their partners stories and compile them. She's too present for that, but I'm worried that ten years from now she won't be. I want her to feel like she'll still be important to me in a decade, or five decades. I don't want her name to get mentioned in passing once a year, I don't want people to just remark, oh how young, what a tragedy, and move on in two sentences, because that's not all there was, she isn't just a name and an age of death, she was a fully fledged person, who had a good side and a bad side and hopes and dreams and fears and envies and loves and passions and opinions and all of those things matter except no one I meet new now, no matter how important they become to me, are ever going to know all of that, and I don't know how heavily I'll be able to impress it upon them. I don't want any relationship with someone, even if it's when I'm 35 and I'm settling down, where the cousin Lizzy is just a factoid to remember, something I might give them hell for not remembering, but not anything of any real, emotional substance to them.
I'm worried also that it'll turn into that for me, just a fact of my life. I worry that it'll never feel like agony, like at each stage it was just like, okay, turn on the realism, this sucks, but we'll deal with it. And even now, finding out she's passed away doesn't feel any more shocking than finding out she was in palliative care, or that she had a few days left. In fact, because I knew for sure it was coming, it just felt like, okay. It's like, there was never grief, not a knockout, just a hard blow every now and then. Maybe that's just how sadness in the real world is. I don't feel strong for not feeling sad though, I just feel like I must not have loved her enough.
If it wasn't for my strong conviction that I know that isn't true, I'd be really angry with myself. As it is, I'm just sad. Just tired. Just down.
I bought a new black dress yesterday for the funeral. I didn't want to wait for her to die to do it, I thought it'd only be harder that way. It was an expensive dress but it's exactly right. It goes to my knees and it's conservative, but also soft and comfortable and classy. I'm glad it's one less thing to think about. I don't know what the funeral will be like. I've been thinking about it of course, for awhile. Every time I saw Liz in the past year, I always was kind of putting her eulogy together in my head. I know that's morbid. And I very much doubt I'll be speaking at all at her funeral... but I want to. If I could. I'd do a good job, I'd do her justice. She gave the speech at my 21st, I would like to return the favour if I could. I'd probably cry but I'd write it down and I'd make it really good.
But if I don't get a chance, that's fine too. She knows everything I want to say, and for everyone else it's just a performance.
It finally happened.
I've been waiting for a long time now and I'm not unhappy that it happened, because it was always going to and now she's not in pain, now we aren't all waiting on tenterhooks for the final eventuality that was always certain, even when everything else wasn't.
I feel very shaky, mentally at least, like I don't know what to do. I can't tell anyone yet, and I won't upload this until after I can, so this is just in preparation. I don't feel different, considering the fact that Liz's consciousness, her own little body with it's infinite mind is no longer out there somewhere, ticking away. I thought that would scare me more. I thought the love would be gone, like if two people hold onto a rope and pull as hard as they can and suddenly the rope is cut at one end, I thought it would suddenly drop, and be done.
I thought that it would be like when you break up with someone and you know you'll never be able to see them or talk to them again, the relationship is completely void and for nothing, but it doesn't feel like that at all. I still know she loved me and I love her, I know those feelings exist, as long as I'm still here to comprehend them, maybe even longer. It's all static now, but it's like a good book, you can still hold it and touch it and reread it, even though the story is done. It's still tangible and you don't regret reading a book just because it's over.
I'm going to miss her of course, and I miss all the things we were supposed to have done together. I'm going to miss her texts, and her picking me up and telling her when I do things of note, and bragging to her, and ranting to her when I was fighting with friends and she'd always take my side.
She's not going to be able to do that stuff for me anymore.
I don't want her to be a side note in my history, the way married couples eventually learn all of their partners stories and compile them. She's too present for that, but I'm worried that ten years from now she won't be. I want her to feel like she'll still be important to me in a decade, or five decades. I don't want her name to get mentioned in passing once a year, I don't want people to just remark, oh how young, what a tragedy, and move on in two sentences, because that's not all there was, she isn't just a name and an age of death, she was a fully fledged person, who had a good side and a bad side and hopes and dreams and fears and envies and loves and passions and opinions and all of those things matter except no one I meet new now, no matter how important they become to me, are ever going to know all of that, and I don't know how heavily I'll be able to impress it upon them. I don't want any relationship with someone, even if it's when I'm 35 and I'm settling down, where the cousin Lizzy is just a factoid to remember, something I might give them hell for not remembering, but not anything of any real, emotional substance to them.
I'm worried also that it'll turn into that for me, just a fact of my life. I worry that it'll never feel like agony, like at each stage it was just like, okay, turn on the realism, this sucks, but we'll deal with it. And even now, finding out she's passed away doesn't feel any more shocking than finding out she was in palliative care, or that she had a few days left. In fact, because I knew for sure it was coming, it just felt like, okay. It's like, there was never grief, not a knockout, just a hard blow every now and then. Maybe that's just how sadness in the real world is. I don't feel strong for not feeling sad though, I just feel like I must not have loved her enough.
If it wasn't for my strong conviction that I know that isn't true, I'd be really angry with myself. As it is, I'm just sad. Just tired. Just down.
I bought a new black dress yesterday for the funeral. I didn't want to wait for her to die to do it, I thought it'd only be harder that way. It was an expensive dress but it's exactly right. It goes to my knees and it's conservative, but also soft and comfortable and classy. I'm glad it's one less thing to think about. I don't know what the funeral will be like. I've been thinking about it of course, for awhile. Every time I saw Liz in the past year, I always was kind of putting her eulogy together in my head. I know that's morbid. And I very much doubt I'll be speaking at all at her funeral... but I want to. If I could. I'd do a good job, I'd do her justice. She gave the speech at my 21st, I would like to return the favour if I could. I'd probably cry but I'd write it down and I'd make it really good.
But if I don't get a chance, that's fine too. She knows everything I want to say, and for everyone else it's just a performance.
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