Ae, that’s it

It’s grief
Deep ass grief
Fuck
What wasn’t
What I know could have been
But wasn’t
It’s not bitterness
It’s just loss
Loss and grief
And as I come to an end
As we all do
I can feel, not regret
Just grief
It’s been a long long long
Ass road
Long ass


kpm©

see .. look

their inadequacies are crippling us.

me.


try to move, but it’s like a weight.

their weight.

& its too hard to just drop.


needs to be buried?
like a death?
a dead body?


buried. properly.

not in anger. not in remorse. or hurt.

just respectfully buried.


dirt & grieving.


kpm©

.. …

what happens when you stop punishing yourself.


kpm©


 

mov.ing.

you grieve.

grieve some more.

take notes.

let it go.

& then move the fuck on.

start by doing right by you.

that’s it.

.

.

.

.

#life #hacks

& #BS


kpm©


 

te maemae mama ..

deep deep grief.

buried in there, somewhere.

i can hear the echoes of it.

hey .. its time.

but it feels sad. too sad.

& aside from ..

theres anger.

deep blood drenched anger.

my anger.

to be torn from the inside out.

more years than i care to remember, but do.

all that time.

all that suffocation.

all that subjugation.

for what?

the pleasure of someone else?

& then the anticipation, joy, excitement, fear & desire of creating life.

new life.

life.

& as she became mine.

she was taken.

stolen.

ripped away.

thats how i see it.

feel it.

the dishonour of being fucked after being fucked for so long.

to be told i am inadequate.

not an inadequate fuck.

but an inadequate parent.

mother.

mummy.

to have her stolen.

like my life.

like my breath.

like my innocence.

she got took.

& i blamed.

yes, the grief is deep.

the undeniable irony.

is tormenting.

sad.

anger.

angering.

raging.

but doesnt go anywhere.

just down.

in.

to fester.


kpm©


 

good grief ?

grief .. is a funny old thing.

circumstantial, locational & has a timeframe all of its own.

no other can be in sync with yours or ask you to be in sync with theirs.

it is what it is.

its momentum loses & gains whenever it feels like it. 

yah gotta ride that wave.


kpm©


 

other stuff ..

suicide anniversary’s & weird ass shit is in the air.

the hidden stuff. the shit that needs to get out.

feels like the universe is groaning.


kpm ©


 

pity party .. y’all invited

think its a pity party, but really, more bordering on a big motherfucking reality check.

& please note, this is a bit of a run on from the previous post … it added to my present fuckery.

.

so, i’m completely down with the ‘upholding the brothers’ & strengthening their resolve to support mental health, awareness, education etc etc. yes, its about time you fuckers cried & let that shit out.

biological women & WOC, all over the world are way over waiting for yous to drop the facade & be real.

with that said, are yous expecting us to teach yous how to do that?

.

& now on the personal note:

cos y’all didn’t want to support me. in fact you made it 100% more difficult to remain alive, well, living, surviving, thriving.

& yet, here i am.

still ‘unwell’, but surviving, bordering on, thriving.

& now yah want support. & now you want sympathy. & now you want help.

but not the kind that you struggle for, fight for, hunt for … but the kind yah mama didn’t give you.

the kind our mamas didn’t give us.

& yet, here i am.

& yes, this is a tale of my journey. but its a tale of so many fucking biological women & WOC it’d take all day to regale them all.

dont get me wrong. i won’t hold up your process or demean your process or put blocks in front of your process. … like you did to me … but i aint actively letting you suck the life outta me so you can stand on your own 2 feet & tell everyone ‘I did it by myself & my way’. cos yah didn’t.

you were a cunt. an absolute cunt who who refused to deal with thine own fucking shit. who refused to own & change it.

& now your old & twisted.

& fucked.

& expect others to do for you what you were unwilling to do for them.

i’ll leave it there.


kpm ©


 

think that’s grief that i can feel,

pressing against my chest.


kpm ©


 

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dreamt about my grandfather …

I woke in tears, and that hasn’t happened for a long long time. The tears stopped a little while ago but I think they’ll be intermittent today as I process …

I dreamt we were out doing ‘normal’ shit and I felt lost … not completely unsafe … just that lost, looking for home kinda feeling.

So I went into my grandfathers old room, in the old house. The bed was made and had the hideous maroon coloured bed spread on it. But it was made like my Nan makes it, all tucked up tight. I think I was wanting to curl up in there and listen to him read Me the Bible. I used to do that as a kid … listening to at least an hours worth of Psalms or Proverbs, his favourites :) I felt safe there. Perfectly safe. And perfectly loved.

But he wasn’t there. And I realised he wasn’t coming back cos he’s dead and I can’t see him or touch him – here – anymore. The tears started flowing in my dream, and they continued when I woke up.

You know when you’re half asleep, half awake, and you can feel something dawning on you … like some deep relevant revelation? Or does that just happen to Me ;) … Well that was happening as I was wiping tears and looking for my snot rag.

I got snippets of my Grandfather, his garden, him working, him cooking, him sitting watching TV doing his ‘invoices’ … and then I saw him crying … when I told him what had happened to Me as a child at the hands of his child. He had big silent tears spilling down his face that day, and I had never seen him cry before. He whispered that He was sorry and touched my hand. He looked sad and ashamed.

I understand now, as a grandparent, the love you have for your grandchildren … and the ache that comes from knowing that they’ve been hurt.

My Grandfather was My Man … the Man in my life that meant something; that I knew loved Me. I am eternally grateful that I had at least one Man be that person for Me.

As all that was churning over in my gutt / mind / heart … I felt a pang of something/s … think it was emotion … The neglect of my father … No safe space … No safe place anymore … and Not grieving the loss of my Grandfathers Face and Space after he left this world.

I’ve written about losing him before, but I can’t be bothered finding the link …

When my Grandfather was dying, we were all a bit in disbelief … I think because we thought he would somehow live forever … he was so strong, and determined, and organised lol, pretty sure death wasn’t on the agenda for that particular week! Certainly wasn’t for Me anyways.

I remember getting the call in the night. My Mama didn’t want to disturb us and it turned out that my Grandfathers heart had stopped the night before but they had resuscitated him. When she rang to let us know what was happening, I booked flights and we left the next morning. It was an 8 hour drive and like 4 hours to the morning flight. Simple choice.

Diversion: This was the last comfortable flight I took. I remember that awkward butterfly feeling in my gutt when we were landing in what they believe is an aeroplane; I think it is a tin can with wings … and knowing that this day was going to be an ending. I thought then that it was hopefully just something that would happen that was unpleasant, but we’d move on ok. Deep down though, I knew it was a life changer. And this feeling or whatever it is … comes at times when shit gets real. It’s uncomfortable and I want to run from it.

Duly noted …

When we got up to the hospital, my Grandfather looked tired … he looked uncomfortable and I knew he wanted to go home. He was trying to make jokes and make everyone feel Ok. And by in large, it was working. Everyone was in a blissful state of denial … even I felt a little warmed by it.

The pedo cunt was there, since he is the son of. What a bastard. But that is / was the story of my life … of everyone’s really. They all put up with him … at everything … on every occasion … because he was / is … family pfft. He raved on about putting down animals that are dying and that if Grandad was an animal he’d be put to sleep. That cunt and my Mama had the final say in whether my Grandfather was resuscitated again or not. They talked facts … I wanted to take him home.

Isn’t Home what we want when we feel uncomfortable or in need of love, or something safe or good? Even if Home isn’t all of those things; or even if Home doesn’t technically exist? It’s a feeling …  a yearning … a belonging. Home. And that’s where my Grandfather needed to be … dying or not … he needed to be at home. But they wouldn’t let us take him home and no-one, including myself, had the grit to argue with those medical wankers at that stage.

So instead, we sat with Grandad, and read Him the Bible.

They told us we couldn’t give him anything to drink, but we didn’t listen to that bullshit and gave him whatever he wanted … which was chocolate milk lol of all things … I don’t think I’d ever seen him drink chocolate milk. But we gave it to him, because he was the Man that gave Us everything!!

He slept fitfully and we kept reading to him.

One of those inhospitable nurses, who was near the end of her shift no doubt, came in and told us we should be telling him what we needed too .. You know, last rites, last confessionals … all the things you wished you had of said but didn’t. I got then, that my Grandfather was dying, that his organs were slowly shutting down. But I could’ve punched that bitch for her attitude.

We continued reading to him.

You see, Grandad was a Man of very few words. But when he spoke, he said what he meant and he didn’t say it twice. This was no time for deep confessions or ‘I wish I had’ve …’ ; this was the time He Needed Us and Would Never Admit It.

In the meantime the pedo cunt decided he wanted to go home and get some clothes and the nurse warned him that his father may be not be alive when he got back so not to mess around.

None of Us gave a shit how long that cunt left for … and secretly hoped he crashed on the way to wherever he was going and never came back.

That was a God Send … if you believe in those. The pedo cunt left. I saw in him no shred of stamina. No shred of self sacrificial love for another. But I didn’t give a shit … I just wanted him to go away. And away he went. Finally.

Not more than an hour later Grandad woke up and looked like he was alright, but having not been around a whole lot of dying people before, we didn’t realise it was like a last rush. The bitch nurse (who was probably really nice, but I didn’t give a shit bout her either …) said he was going to die – go and wake up my daughter to come say goodbye.

At this stage everyone kind of went into shock I think. My poor Mama was trying to fuss around as our pizza had arrived; my youngest daughter started crying …

I went an achey blue cold. I can’t describe it any other way.

I didn’t want to be there. Like the prelude to a panic attack … Anywhere but here. But at the same time, I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world other than next to the only Man that loved Me completely.

In that achey blue cold state, I kind of snapped at my Mama and told her to tell Grandad she loved him. I ordered my youngest daughter to go wake up my eldest daughter … Now, and drag her here Now … and Fast. My eldest was pregnant with our first moko and was just pregnant tired. My youngest did as she was told for a change … I think it was my tone.

They started crying when they got back to Grandad and I understood why. And usually I’d encouraged it. But my beautiful Grandfather was a war veteran … a man who hardly ever cried … that was extremely uncomfortable with emotion and with the discomfort of others.

I told them to suck it up. To tell Grandad they loved Him and that He was a good Man. I told him He had done a fine job of being a father, grandfather and great-grandfather and now he could leave and we would be alright.

And the light in his big blue eyes went out.

And as the rest of the proceedings came and went … the phone calls, the death-mobile and all their papers and shit … the wheeling him out … telling them that we wanted him to be brought home (which was against his wishes, but not really .. I figured he wanted to go home before hand, and this was the least we could do ..) … the pedo cunt showing up again … me, mama and my girls all sleeping together in the same room that night … all waking up sobbing … feeling the end of an era fall on the whole house … the funeral … the tears … the numbness … for months until I half pie cracked one afternoon and sobbed till it hurt … and then the years that have gone by and I can’t even remember when he died … the date, the year, the time … but that moment when his light left was the moment something else left.

My Safe Place.

He was it. He was my father, my grandfather, my love, my safety, my teacher, my Man.

And then I got scared. And there was nowhere to go.

And this morning as I was wiping away snot and tears, I realised this was when my world came unhinged so to speak. I didn’t have a lot anyway … but what was good, was in him.What was safe, was in him. What was the calm in the storm, was in him. And i didn’t know how to re-orientate myself.

I still don’t.

But now I know.

And it hurts like fucking shit.

So I’ll let the tears run today and maybe I’ll light Grandad a candle … I’ll sit with all this today and feel that filthy great big lump in my throat and that ugly grief feeling in my puku.

I’ll let it do its thing.

The Love Of My Life

kpm ©


 

check.

had 2 dreams recently, ’bout my biological father.

might check to see if the old cunts dead.


#FeelingHopeful


thats all. scroll on.


kpm©


 

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to.unfuck.thyself.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

our black panther, Ika. xo

As a general ‘rule of thumb’ …

[which by the way, was an old law which stated that the stick you could use to beat your wife was to be no thicker than your thumb …]

it tends to be that one theres one or two things going to the shitter, it seems to propel a landslide type of effect.

Well, it does round here anyways.

After what I thought was a cunt of a day, and the ‘wins’ that a strove to find throughout it …

Our cat got sick … so sick in fact, that he died.

Now I’ve said it before, I’m not a huge animal person and I have attachment issues *groan and eye ball roll*; so I kinda thought I wouldn’t be upset with the passing of our fur ball.

But I cried like a little bitch. And I’m still reasonably upset. I think I was more upset that my partner was so upset. Our cat was his compadre <3

*Digression: Parents: Let your little biological males cry … in fact, encourage it! It’s fucking healthy!

So with the cat gone and the partner off to bury him, the real estate people we rent from, show up for ‘a house inspection’ [hate those] and the ‘For Sale’ paperwork for the house. So its official, the house is up for sale as of this weekend. Roll on intrusive Open Homes and awkward questions ewwww. Anyway, I think we have that sort of sorted … and I’m just gonna roll with it all … oh, and get some more anti-anxiety’s ;)

But theres this uneasy awkward feeling … I guess cos shit is changing …

The upshot: I survived / am surviving the loss of an animal that I thought I wasn’t attached too, and the tears and the attached emotional element thingees … and that as much as I don’t like them and they make me feel like an awkward retard … I am Ok.

The house will get sold and we will move on. We might not be by our beach anymore, we might even be in a tent on my daughters front lawn … but we’ll be Ok. I will be Ok.

Anyway … I miss our cat. And missing shit sucks … but I wouldn’t want to have Not had him around.

I guess thats the pay-off, or not, with attachment and love? I’m still figuring it out … and rolling with it …


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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mokopuna.

mokopuna – grandchildren.


Is there anything else more special-er than mokopuna? I think not.

As I’ve been saying, moko #6 is due very soon … like any day now … I am as prepared as I can be. Excited and nervous but good.

I’ve had an interesting niggle in the last week or 2 and upon closer inspection, it turned out to be grief.

Why on earth grief?

Well …

Moko #6 is actually moko #9.

I haven’t excluded my other mokos, I just haven’t mentioned them, because I had believed it wasn’t my place.

As the grief started making its way up and out, I realised they are mine and it is my place to grieve for them and acknowledge them as I do my 2nd daughter who became an angel baby before she was born.

So, Moko #1 became an angel baby early on. Her Mama had named her but not really acknowledge the grief that accompanied her loss. Her siblings however, wanted to know where she was and they include her in all their conversations now.

I hadn’t grieved the loss of my first Moko because I had talked my girl through what was happening when she lost her. I think I felt like I didn’t deserve to grieve.

But now I do … and the grief is becoming something different. I know she, who would have been 11, is with her tipuna (ancestors) and her aunty (my girl, who would have been 29). She is loved here and loved where she is.

Then came Moko #2 (who I have until now, always called Moko #1). I was present at his birth and he was and is super perfect! I was so proud of my girl and her little bundle of cuteness. I’d do virtual anything for that kid … he’s 10 and is our little drummer now … an absolutely beautiful soul.

Then came Moko #3. She’s one in a million. She’s confident and sensitive and has an all-knowing personality / soul. She’s a talented little miss and succeeds way OTT at anything she puts her hands and mind too. She’s that kind of kid. Truly incredible.

Then there was Moko #4. She became an angel baby too. She would have been 7. I didn’t grieve her properly at all at the time because I was in mama mode. Again, I helped my girl through that time … she grieved … I didn’t. But like her cousin, she’s with her tipuna and aunty and she is loved … both here and there.

Then came Moko #5. A beautiful little soul. Such a strong willed and confident darling. She’s about to turn 5. She’s challenged all of us to be congruent and honest. She’s so herself and she’s brought the best out in her siblings, parents and her grandparents ;)

Then came Moko #6, another beautiful little girl. She’s just turned 4. This is our little singer and performer. She’s been singing and dancing and moving since she left the womb. She’s an absolute delight. Her Mama keeps in close contact with her paternal family which is awesome, so she knows all her family from both sides. She’s super gorgeous and I look forward to seeing what she will do.

Then there was Moko #7. He would have been 3. He’s our angel baby too. I didn’t grieve at all. I was so lame myself I had no room to let that emotion in. I know now, like the others, he’s with his tipuna, his aunty, sister and cousin.

Then came Moko #8. She’s just turned 1. She’s my partners biological Moko, but as far as we are all concerned, she is Ours too. She a cutie. So strong willed and adventurous, like nerve wracking adventurous lol. She’s a beauty.

And now we wait for Moko #9s arrival. He’s due anytime now and his pending arrival is exciting. His Mama is attempting to have him naturally after having 2 C sections … she’s that kinda woman!

So thats it.

I’m still processing a few tears. And these last few months have been way more than I expected … for the better.

I guess we can’t process what we don’t acknowledge. And you can’t acknowledge what you don’t know.

Now I know.

Love and light and awesomeness to Me and my Mokos and my Familia xoxo


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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after.math

if anger is disguised as grief. what comes after grief.



kpm ©


 

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my babies.

I speak of my daughters often throughout my blog, but not alot, if you get my drift. And thats mainly out of respect for their privacy … little bitches ;)

But as I recently had a big dose of them, they are next up on my agenda … because they are my essence <3

They are like a split of Me with an extra dollup of chocolate and gelato on the side ;)

They are both ultra sensitive and completely gangstah … but different.

… I started writing about how beautiful they both are … but that wasn’t actually the reason I thought of them both for this post today … so let Me get to the gutts of it ay.

I’ve also written alot about not knowing when and how We will stop being here … in this world. Whether it be those that take their own lives, or those that have lived a long plentiful life, or those that are so dam miserable they probably should be dead … the jist is, We never know when our time is up; but it is a guarantee of this life. That we will all one day expire.

I know this. And its strange, because the closer I get to digging Me and digging life, the more urgency I feel to love every little bit of it because its been so fucken hard for so long … I think I’ve done my hard times and down times enough for a couple life times.

But as I was hanging with my girlies the other day, the youngest (shes 23) had learnt that her friend, who is a little younger than her, had died. She leaves behind a 3 year old.

I think I was kinda in shock, but felt for my girl and could see her grief; and her love for her friend.

Today it kinda slapped Me up side the head. That my baby is feeling the grief of loss that we associate with older, having lived some more of life type age bracket. And that this girls mama would be completely gutted … to have lost her baby girl; her child … the child, growing into a young woman … who now, is no more.

My heart kinda skipped a bit of a beat. Not because I know this lady or her daughter … but because my girl was is in pain and that pains Me.

And because my girls are my love and life. They always have been. Because I am eternally grateful for them; for having them here – still; for being able to watch them grow from beautiful kids to even more beautiful young women … and I’m not just talking outward beauty (they are stunning looking girls though!), but what makes them extraordinary is what they exude … their essence.

They make Me so proud … but more than that … I have always been in love with my kids, and I’m pleased that they have loved Me back :)


kpm ©


 

Im pretty pissed actually …

i’ve had my tears … done my semi tribute .

avoided my blog, perused everyone elses .

and in true Me form, i’ve done abit of processing

& i’m pissed.

pissed that this area of my life has been effected by

You exiting.

i’m not happy at all.

you see,

you’re supposed to show up with some quick witted statement

& put Me in my place.

you’re supposed to say all the things

that people in my physical life are too scared to say to

Me.

you’re it.

you’re the voice of sound fucking reason.

you’re the smartass that combats my smartass.

now who the fuck is gonna do it

??

[I don’t get it. As selfish as it all may sound … How do you think that Me is supposed to mozy on around this place, and not be affected by your absence??]

??

[I get that everyone else misses you too … I completely get it … and its a credit to the human being that you are … that you managed to affect so many peeps … but right now … I’m just thinking about … ME.]

!!

I’m not happy.

Not happy at all.

I’m pissed at you.

It sucks ass.

Sucks ass totally

completely

and I’m pissed.

Pissed as fuck.

Out.


kpm ©


 

& then the grief sets in …

After my dissection of self the other day, and realising that that bitch ass flashback had fucked with my world – and continues too; just saying – I struck upon a couplely other things:

  1. That psychological assessment fucker had also done a number on my psyche … good and bad. I had to relive everything again, in nice gory detail, and that fucked me over. But coming home to nuddah … not a soothing cup of tea, not a high fucking five … nuddah on nuddah … made me make sure I did a decent self soothe, sure … but it also (delayed as always … ) fucked me off. That yet again, I am alone, dealing with the shit I didn’t ask for, the shit I didn’t create, that shit that lingers because that is the essence off the whole pts(d) fucker … alone again, to deal with it ALL.
  2. If I had’ve been in some god awful accident (not wishing that at all … or taking away from those that have been in this position), and lost a couple of limbs or ended up with some kind of head injury … these cunts would be lining up with flowers and sympathy cards. But here’s the kicker …

…… There aint no sympathy cards and bouquets for pts fucking d. Period. Cos no-one gives a shit! Whether they’ll admit it or not, most people, (other than those that have it themselves or have done some research (and of those, most of them have some kind of long term illness that makes them sympathetic to the cause)) err on the side of … ‘get over it mate’.

But after all the anger subsides, what is left.

Grief.

Good old fucking grief.

All that comes with wanting some of what I could do, back; the freedom. As hollow as some of it may have been, I fucking miss being able to get in my car, yes thats right, my car; and fucking off … driving out to wherever and stopping for a coffee … driving off to wherever and buying an over priced jacket … getting all done up and going out and getting filthy drunk … dropping in on my girlfriends for coffee and a gossip (not that we ever did the gossip thing much … B O R I N G) … but I miss it … I miss all of it! And I want it ALL back.

And cos I can’t even do the simple things without some fucker holding my god dam hand … I grieve … I fucking grieve … and that sucks shit today.

It sucks god almighty shit balls.

And cos that rant went off into something other than what I had planned … fuck psychological assessments too … they can kiss my white ass!


kpm ©


 

‘sleep well my beloved sister’

I don’t know who to talk too.

I’m not sure what to say.

Nothing.

My heart, my insides

feel heavy.

But not.

Possibly regret.

Possibly grief.

Whatever.

It’s too late.

For everything.

Your dead.

I think they forgot

we are sisters.

Remember    …

the forgotten one.

Rest easy

the loved one.

Rest easy.

pai moe toku tuahine aroha


kpm ©


 

wail.

wail.  like you feel it.

like you want them to feel it too.


kpm ©


 

and the dead dude is still here…literally

As we pack up…well actually I pack up, and the partner moves around the house making it look like he’s packing up…yes, I know your steez! lol…we came across ‘the bro’s’ “box”. Well, not really ‘came across’ either…we know exactly where he has been…in our house! We’ve had him here with us for nearly 2 years. And he’s been dead, nearly 3; and me  and the partner got to talking, as we do.

‘the bro’ is one of the partners very bestest friends…I call them BFFs, but that’s apparently not very manly…so ‘bros’ it is. There were 3 of them in their ‘pack’ and they’ve been friends nearly all his life. Each one of them make up a very quirky whole. And whenever they got together it was beyond funny to watch…but quite a mesmerizing blessing to be part of.

Anyways, the bro in the box, topped himself nearly 3 years ago. I’ve written about him before, and generally try not to delve into his story…as its his story, and he can’t tell it anymore. But as it pertains to me…well, that’s different. And as it pertains to my relationship with his ‘bro’, my partner, that’s a different thing too.

When the partners bro topped himself there was the disbelief phase, the tears, the grief, the anger…all in circles and roundabouts they came. He left behind 4 beautiful children; then nearly 3 all the way up to nearly 17. The kids had their dad for a year…and is the ‘custom’ (loosely said…), he was supposed to be put in the ground after that year had passed.

There was disagreement about where he should lay…whose urupa (family cemetery) he should be at. But these disagreements were just the tip of the ice berg(s) really. Some of the family said he shouldn’t be buried anywhere because of what he had done to himself. Some said he shouldn’t be cremated and left in the box to be sitting on a shelf somewhere (that somewhere is our house btw!).

But what prevails really…is denial, grief and anger.

And me. My point of view. For the family…I get it. Both sides. His and theirs. But he’s dead now. And he’s gathering dust on our shelf. How respectful is that to anyone?

Then theres the ‘my’ opinion pertaining to ‘the partner’.

I watch him wrangling with denial and disbelief…and then swinging into anger and grief and disbelief. He asks himself ‘why’ and ‘wtf’ in the most manly of ways lol. And that hurts me. Seeing him hurt.

And then theres the ‘mine and the partners’ view of the whole thing.

When the bro arrived here, I blessed his box and gave him the rules (yes I believe the dead can still hear us). I told him if he played up he’d have to go to the shed. Then we made room for him on the shelf in our lounge. The partner put his bros photo up and a few mementos. A miniature shrine is what we ended up with. But it was only going to be for a year…while the daughters decided where their dad should be laid to rest.

We deal with the grief differently than most I suppose. Don’t get me wrong…we’ve done our fair share of ‘why would he do that to himself…to his family…to his BFFs’. And then we talk to the bro…usually call him an asshole or a fuckwit followed by generally taking the piss out of the whole situation…we’ll tell him he can pick his task for the week…door stop…or foot rest…or cup holder…then we say to him, ‘hey if you’re gonna stay here, you need to pull your weight…’, all with a bit of a tear and a laugh. But under all that jest…it hurts the partner…more than me. I hurt, because he hurts. And laughter helps him to process all that stuff that he can’t explain sometimes…

But now, nearly 2 years have gone by and the bro has gathered dust on the shelf…and I wonder why they haven’t asked for him?

And that’s what me and the partner got to talking about.

For all the family’s disagreements about where their son, father, uncle, nephew…should lay to rest…none of them have actually faced that he is still here. That this dude topped himself. He thought to do that…because he was sad, because he couldn’t see a way out, because…we don’t know. Yes they may feel that it was a self fish act of violence against himself and against them…but we will never know…

And leaving him to gather dust on the shelf…

Well, now that’s sad.

For whatever his reasons were, he was a loved friend of the partner. And I get the family’s grief…but I think we get a say now…

So my real opinion, as it pertains to me…and my experience with suicide and death and love and depression and feeling sad and being trapped and…

I think its cruel to leave him locked up in that box for this long…when what he was looking for to begin with was…freedom.

Who are we to keep it from him now?


kpm ©