Saturday, December 11, 2010


I'm feeling very selfish. I want every scrap of clothing. I want every dish I saw him eat out of, every mug he stirred his Swiss Miss in. I want to be the last one to touch his face, the last to look at his casket. I don't want anyone playing his beloved nerd games, for fear of losing even a single piece.

Today, in his memory, we were supposed to have a post-funeral luncheon with games. Yesterday we went to his apartment to gather a selection to play. We left with three boxes and a duffel bag full, and we didn't even take them all. Unfortunately, thanks to a massive snowstorm, most people ended up simply heading home after the funeral, and some of us came over to Chris and Alicia's, Eric's brother and sister-in-law. We did play a couple of games; some people played dominoes, four of us sat down to play Pandemic.

I have never played Pandemic without Eric. I didn't know how to set up the game. I didn't know the best move to make. I didn't know which character I should play as. And we couldn't even win the game, despite trying our best against it twice.

I sat with his family at the funeral. I was mentioned in the obituary, and multiple times during the service. There was a section where they read letters/thoughts from his immediate family members: Chris, his mom, his dad, and me.

This family has taken me in, claimed me, adopted me, turned me into the daughter-in-law they thought I would eventually be. It's amazing.

It's not enough. I need more. I need everything. I need Eric. His smile, his clear blue eyes, the face he makes after he makes a pun (hey guys, look at me, I'm funny!). The shirts that smell like him, the socks that are still dirty, the comforter I hated a week ago.

I stupidly, wrongly feel that other people's grief takes away from my own. Friends that I never got the chance to meet have stories from years, decades ago; I want them to be mine. People who barely knew him shed tears; my eyes go dry. Or maybe I just want to be strong in front of others? I barely cried at all yesterday, even during the hours-long visitation. Today was not so strong. Today I broke down, sobbed at the front of the chapel, had tears on my face the whole service (except during the part Eric would have hated). But again, when the crowd gathered at the house, my eyes ran dry. As soon as everyone but family left, I started crying again.

I still can't believe he's gone. It doesn't seem real. How can it be? How can the man I hugged and kissed a week ago be impossible to touch now, forever? It just doesn't make any sense. Does not compute.

Is it wrong for me to blog about this? It's therapeutic, anyway. I've been so lost, bearing my grief in silence, that it feels good to get some words out, any words. I can't talk to anyone. How can my grief compare to that of his mother? His mother, who lost her baby boy. His mother, who raised him and loved him and let him go to live his independent, adult life. And how can anyone else's grief compare to mine? (I know this is not true. I cannot know the depth of anyone's grief. I am positive he has friends that are hurting as much as I am, if not more. But these are my selfish thoughts.) So there is nothing left to say. (Also not true. I could talk to anyone, I could say anything, and they would listen. But this is my irrational grief.)

Things. I'm so fixated on things. I want to hold onto every piece of him I possibly can. Why? Why am I so fixated on things? What I really should be doing is recording memories. The time he looked down at me and said, "Oh, how do I not tell you you're beautiful?" The first time I saw him bowl. When we stumbled into his living room on October first, and he pulled me down onto the couch with him, and I suddenly got nervous and asked what other stories he had, and then he was kissing me for the first time. When he pulled me close and kissed me well, for the last time. When I came into his apartment and the pocket door was closed, and I walked around to find the table set, a candle lit, dinner cooked on the stove, and a fake mustache on his face. When I spent the day puking my brains out at his mom's house, and he came in, knelt by the bed, and brushed the hair off my forehead.

These are the things I should cling to. These are the moments that will comfort me.

For now, I'll wear my new sapphire earrings, cling to my plush meeple, and find a nice shirt to smell.


  1. say everything, say nothing - we are all here to listen & offer whatever comfort we can from our many corners of the world.
    i'm always here if you need me <3

  2. I cannot imagine the pain that you endure. Just know that there are people here for you and grieving with you. Cherish the memories that you shared...

  3. So sorry for your loss. Hope these things can link you forever to your memories. Keep writing.

  4. Write down every memory...just list them ALL of them whenever they come to you. You'll find comfort in it...