The sea has been still and quiet for months, yet now I feel it; the distant angry rumble of the sky, the warm wind turning colder, blowing stronger. The storm is approaching and the calm waters are melding into waves; rising.
It’s February, Valentine’s day is coming up soon, and then, well, then it’s the deathaversary. Has it really been 3 years? It’s strange, that terrible night feels so long ago, and also like it was just yesterday. The last couple of days I’ve felt the gradual shift – I’ve started to get flashbacks, intense feelings of guilt about his death, insomnia at night, and just general “blahness”.
Tonight I felt the need to read the autopsy report and cry for a while. It’s something truly awful to see the person you loved, their life, their brightness, their energy, reduced to a couple of pages of medical jargon, measurements, and numbers.
His heart weighed 400 grams.
I can also tell you how much his spleen, lungs, intestines, and all other organs weighed, how they looked, what fluids were in them. I can tell you the exact path the bullet took through his neck, where it entered, what it passed through and damaged, and where it exited.
No one needs to know that about a loved one. No one.
Yet, I wanted to know.
Needed to know.
Somehow, knowing all that information solidified the fact that he was dead for me. I’ve always been scientifically minded, and that didn’t change when Brandon died. I WANTED to know all those details, the details most people would shy away from; I ran towards them, I demanded to know them.
Maybe it’d be for the best for me not to know them…but, it is what it is.
So, sometimes when it feels like the life Brandon and I had never existed, that it was some distant dream, I take out the autopsy folder and I slap reality on the table, remind my brain that it is all real. All of it. I wonder what a therapist would have to say on the topic.
This wave has passed…I feel completely normal again. Writing it down helps.
‘Till the next one.