Being one of the Left Behind

Andy and me in 2018 at "That's Entertainment" in Worcester. 

(We were promoting "Blackwood" written by Evan Dorkin.  I went to a signing of Evan and his wife Sarah's, only to end up working with them 10 years later... thanks to Andy.)

Andy had encouraged me to get a job there, and it helped me develop a love of comics and choose my future profession.  Look how handsome he is...

 

I don't think too much about what I'm going to say when I sit down to write these posts.  Maybe that's the beauty of this process for me as opposed to artwork, where I am always sketching, erasing, sketching and trying to figure out where the piece is going.  Here, it's just whatever has been on my mind.

In the days following Andy's death we've all been dealing with it in our own ways.  Many times I will go into a state of catatonia, then break into tears.  I look over to where he should be sitting and talk to him.

Going through his side of the closet was hard.  It was important to choose the clothes he'll be buried in and we knew it should be white linen.  White linen for two reasons; 

1. He believed strongly that we are purified when we go to The Other Side 

2. He wore it a lot and looks amazing in it.  It's kind of his thing.

I can't bring myself to leave the house unless it's for an absolutely critical appointment such as choosing our burial plots or going to the funeral home.  It was hard for us but we all chose things that we knew should go with him:  Austin's dog collar, his reading glasses (the blue ones because they brought out his gorgeous blue eyes), cards from all of us, family photos, his favorite watch, his favorite drawing pens, his rosary, some small toys he loved and a love note from me that he kept in his drawer.

We were heartened to know the funeral director not only knew Andy but graduated high school with him and even served on the school newspaper and yearbook club with him.  Andy knew how to take and develop photos, so his job when he was a teen was working as a photography assistant as well as drawing cartoons.

 

Bruce did a great job choosing the beautiful background of Andy's own studio for his obituary page.

We loved hearing stories about him that we hadn't heard before.

However, when home alone... The Daze settles in again.

I don't know what day it is, what I should be doing next, and often find myself pacing in circles in the living room.  Going through the financial side of things, the logistics, is overwhelming.  The weight of his loss is so gigantic, it's an earthquake of a magnitude that can't be determined.

I noticed the bruise on my leg has healed.  The one that I got from jumping out of the recliner to help him.  I was sad to see it gone; a symbol that enough time had passed where my assistance was no longer needed.  It became my reason to live for the past month.  As the situation became more critical I clung to things like "well at least he's still in the hospital, he'll get through this..."  Now I am dreading the funeral.  For now, he is still at the funeral home, still here with us in some way.  I don't think I'll be able to witness him being buried, it'll be far too heart breaking.

He is my best friend, support system, an unending source of affection and human connection, my protector.  What now?  I'm not a whole person anymore.

I won't lie, I had thought a few times about ways to go with him.  (***Before you worry, I promise you I won't do anything.  Andy made me promise him that this won't destroy me and that promise will be upheld.***)

However, the thought of being in this depression for an indefinite period of time, not knowing when it will lift was often times too much to bear.  How can one possibly get through it.

I miss everything about our routine, which was normal only two months ago.  I miss the clinking of his coffee mugs as he got one out of the cupboard.  I miss grinding the beans fresh for him while he was in the shower, (a favor for which I was always thanked.)  I miss the way he'd overshoot the laundry basket when he threw his socks in from the bathroom.  I miss going out with him on scenic drives, the weight and heat of his body near me at night.  I loved our routine of watching "The IT Crowd" or "Black Books" or the Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes series on his iPad before going to sleep.  I don't want to touch anything, and keep his chair pulled out, as he did.

I desperately look for anything in the closet that still smells like him, and wear his clothes.  I wear his wedding ring, speak in present and plural tenses.

"Give the kids our love"  ... "He loves you...." etc.

When I pray at night, it's talking to Andy in The Next Place.

It was a bit surreal picking my own burial place, but comforting to know it's where he wanted to be, a place special to the both of us.  We used to walk there in the fall and took our drawing classes to sketch the beautiful architecture on the grounds.

So we'll be next to each other forever, under a gorgeous European Beach Tree, which will only grow more beautiful as the fall comes in.  As it gets closer to our 16th wedding anniversary.

I'm not sure how to survive this, but I will, because I promised. 

I will continue to write here about the grief process in the event it can be of use to anyone.  Hopefully it can.  Much love to anyone reading.

 

Many thanks to:

The boys & their partners,

Birgit and Luis, Lance, Steve Altes,

Annie, Patti and Tom, David and Kathleen, Donna, Bruce,

Julie, Lisa, Nate and Mason, Kathy H., Missy and Rick, 

Jan, Elaine, Alison, Lindsay, Derek,

Deedee and Billee

and so many more.

 

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

 

we love you