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29 April 2015, 08:46

It might be the exercise stirring all this up. I don’t know.

I can’t seem to stop thinking about death.

Not my death.

Though, when I was young – in my teens – I thought about my death. I think I may have even wished for it. I didn’t understand it at all. I didn’t understand the finality. I didn’t understand the darkness. I didn’t understand the agony. It was borne out of pain, and cries for relief from my place in the world. Selfish people wish for things they can’t possibly understand. I didn’t want death. I wanted help. I was innocent in the journey and had not touched death.

Now, more than half my life is over and it was late in that life where I really understood death. I had not given it a first, second, third thought until Ken died. The though of life ending was an intellectual concept. It wasn’t something yet I could feel. The introduction of this particular devil in my life was like floating for a lifetime on a calm sea, and then being swept by a rogue wave that engulfs everything that matters. Every thought, every action, every sight, sound, smell was tainted by this stain. And it continues to this day. There is no closure. That is bullshit. There is only moving forward. There is only temporary amnesia. There is only the memory of the rogue wave. There is only anticipation of when it is coming back.

I don’t know whether its all the exercise that stirs up the emotion. It’s uncontrollable. That’s why I’m sitting here resting. The wave came and overtook me, no matter how fast I went on the treadmill.

I have thought about my own death and it brings only a touch of sadness, and it is because I will leave behind so much that I love. These thoughts never send me into the tailspin these latest mental meanderings have.

I’ve had a couple dreams about Doug dying. And now it’s starting to invade my waking life. I find myself having to deal with him being gone. And it physically brings me to my knees. I daydream he has died, and I do the only thing I know how to cope. Maybe its because I recently saw something similar in the media. He has died, and I had moved to the west. Arizona maybe. And I decided to walk the nature trails to a destination unknown for three months. I see myself doing this walk. I see myself in agony.

I’m crying out, wildly flailing between guilt and anger that accompanies a child’s loss of something dear. I see myself screaming, begging for understanding. And none comes. I start crying for real. I can’t stop. Even now, I’m trying to pull it together. There is bargaining in my head for an event that hasn’t happened yet. There is a pleading for forgiveness of all my sins in a effort to make a deal. With who, I don’t know. It’s almost a desperation to stop this from happening, this non-existent event.

There is no closure for me. There is no hiding for me. It’s coming up in my dreams. It’s marching with me in the daylight.

I write this for no reason other than distraction, coping, maybe a way to intellectualize this piercing hurt in my chest, the tightness in my torso.

And I still don’t understand. Anything.