The past couple weeks have been very tough to get through. There's been a lot of reminders of Jason, and a lot of reminders that Jason is no longer here. I blogged earlier about several dates this month: September 18th would've been Jason's 40th birthday. To celebrate, his friends and I got together for the weekend to laugh, cry, and remember. September 27th, Jason was remembered by his friends and cohorts at the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS. Jason was a big part of this event for years, and it showed. Everyone was in tears as they retired his crew number. His bike was also used as the "riderless bike" which proved to be an unbelievably emotional moment in the ceremony. And finally, tonight, September 30th, I took part in a city-wide memorial event to remember those lost at the hands of lymphoma. I posted my speech in a previous blog. The event was beautiful, and those of us who helped organize it were blown away at the attendance, stories, and love that surrounded us. It truly was a special evening.
I wrote in an earlier entry that I was not looking forward to September and I just wanted to get through it. Well, tomorrow is October 1st. It's officially the end of September, and I made it through. There were a lot of moments when I didn't want to get out of bed. There were a lot of moments when I just wanted to cry. In fact, there were several moments when I did cry...one time in particular I broke down sobbing at my desk at work. Talk about embarrassing.
My therapist - who I've been working with since Jason was first diagnosed - believes that grief isn't as black and white as those 5 stages we all learn about in school. She believes that grief is a continuous process that circles around...making loop after loop after loop. At the onset, the grief circle is quite compact and tight...intense. But, as time goes on, while you still may be hitting those ups and downs, they're farther from the compact and tight center - therefore less intense. It makes sense. This month was hard. There were a lot of milestones, and they were hard to get through, but they weren't unbearable. I suppose that means my grief has jumped to an outer circle.
So, now it's onward and upward to October. I'm entering one of the busiest seasons for work, and I suppose that's a good thing. It'll certainly keep me occupied. We've also got the Light the Night Walk to look forward to. TEAM JASON is still the #1 Friends and Family fundraising team for the Dallas walk. This week, we hit the $7,000 mark and we're continuing to get donations. I've also got a pretty big auction on ebay that'll be ending next Tuesday that I hope will bring in several hundred more $$. I think Jason would be extremely impressed by all the money we've been able to raise. Seriously. SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS! That's a lotta dough!
So for now, I say goodbye to September. Hello October. And to Jason, I love you, and I miss you every single day. Come see me in my dreams soon.
Until next time--
Stuart
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
A City Remembers
Tonight, I'll be speaking at a city-wide memorial service to remember those lost to leukemia & lymphoma. The LLS is hosting the event, and I've helped them plan and put this all together. They asked me to give a little speech - about Jason, our experience, and my grief. Here is what I'll be saying.
Good evening. My name is Stuart Boslow. I'm 29 years old, and 4 months ago, I lost my soulmate to this awful monster called cancer. My partner, Jason, was diagnosed with non-hodgkins lymphoma on May 28, 2008...and exactly one year later on May 28, 2009...I stood next to his bed, holding his hand, as he took his last breath. At 29-years old, I was calling friends, family, and co-workers to inform them that the love of my life was gone.
In the days after his death, I was in such a "go" mode, that I never gave myself time to really feel and experience what I had just been through. There was the planning of the memorial service, dealing with the remains, and a million other details. There were meetings about the will, the house, and his belongings. It was all so matter-of-fact...and business-like. It wasn't until weeks later that I truly began to comprehend what happened. It wasn't until weeks later, when I truly felt the extent of my loss.
In those weeks right after he died, I was surrounded by friends and family...loved ones who all wanted to make sure I was ok. I began to loathe the "Are you ok" question. It was the only question anyone would ask, and I was tired of answering it. Obviously, I was not ok, but I always said yes because I didn't think anyone really wanted the truth. I was surrounded by people, yet I felt so incredibly alone.
Later, when the dust had settled and everyone else had returned to their lives...I was still stuck in the past - trying to come to terms with everything. I would replay the moments of his death over and over in my head. I felt like I was walking around with a giant scarlet letter on my chest. I began feeling guilty for bringing him up in conversation because I could see my the person get uncomfortable when they didn't know how to respond. When someone would try to help - I'd get mad because I felt like I was being lectured on how I should be grieving.
It took me a while to realize - there is no one way to grieve. It's different for everyone. Grief is probably the most personal feeling you'll ever go through in your life. It's even more personal than love, I believe...because love you share with another. Grief, is yours and yours alone. No one can tell you how to do it, or for how long…and no one should tell you when it's time to move on. Only YOU can know when it's time. If it's one thing I've learned through this whole experience, it's to listen to myself...to my heart, because THAT is what is going to guide me through this. Once I realized that and started listening to my heart, I truly began to heal.
Jason died four months ago Monday, and I can now answer the "Are you ok" question honestly. I am ok. I no longer feel the need to hide my feelings. I no longer feel guilty for speaking his name, and I'm no longer ashamed of getting upset. The horrific memories of the moments of his death have faded and the wonderful memories we made together have come back to the surface. I close my eyes now and I hear his laugh, his jokes, I see his face...and best of all, I still feel his love...and all of that makes me smile. They say that time heals...and I believe it does. They say that grief never goes away, it just gets easier to deal with. I'd say that is true.
It's evident by your attendance here tonight that - no matter how long it's been since your loved one died - it's still important for you to take time to pause and remember what he or she meant to you and your life. That's truly amazing...and is a wonderful example of how...through memories...people can live forever. For me, I carry my memories of Jason where ever I go, and take a moment every day to say "I love you."
I heard the poem I'm about to read in a movie called In Her Shoes, and the first time I heard it, it didn't mean a thing. I heard it again shortly after Jason died, and the words just stuck with me. It's called I carry your heart with me, by E. E. Cummings.
“I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go. And whatever is done by only me... is your doing. I fear no fate... for you are my fate. I want no world, for you are my world. Here is the deepest secret no one knows. Here is the root of the root... and the bud of the bud... and the sky of the sky of a tree called life which grows higher than the soul can hope... I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.”
Thank you.
Good evening. My name is Stuart Boslow. I'm 29 years old, and 4 months ago, I lost my soulmate to this awful monster called cancer. My partner, Jason, was diagnosed with non-hodgkins lymphoma on May 28, 2008...and exactly one year later on May 28, 2009...I stood next to his bed, holding his hand, as he took his last breath. At 29-years old, I was calling friends, family, and co-workers to inform them that the love of my life was gone.
In the days after his death, I was in such a "go" mode, that I never gave myself time to really feel and experience what I had just been through. There was the planning of the memorial service, dealing with the remains, and a million other details. There were meetings about the will, the house, and his belongings. It was all so matter-of-fact...and business-like. It wasn't until weeks later that I truly began to comprehend what happened. It wasn't until weeks later, when I truly felt the extent of my loss.
In those weeks right after he died, I was surrounded by friends and family...loved ones who all wanted to make sure I was ok. I began to loathe the "Are you ok" question. It was the only question anyone would ask, and I was tired of answering it. Obviously, I was not ok, but I always said yes because I didn't think anyone really wanted the truth. I was surrounded by people, yet I felt so incredibly alone.
Later, when the dust had settled and everyone else had returned to their lives...I was still stuck in the past - trying to come to terms with everything. I would replay the moments of his death over and over in my head. I felt like I was walking around with a giant scarlet letter on my chest. I began feeling guilty for bringing him up in conversation because I could see my the person get uncomfortable when they didn't know how to respond. When someone would try to help - I'd get mad because I felt like I was being lectured on how I should be grieving.
It took me a while to realize - there is no one way to grieve. It's different for everyone. Grief is probably the most personal feeling you'll ever go through in your life. It's even more personal than love, I believe...because love you share with another. Grief, is yours and yours alone. No one can tell you how to do it, or for how long…and no one should tell you when it's time to move on. Only YOU can know when it's time. If it's one thing I've learned through this whole experience, it's to listen to myself...to my heart, because THAT is what is going to guide me through this. Once I realized that and started listening to my heart, I truly began to heal.
Jason died four months ago Monday, and I can now answer the "Are you ok" question honestly. I am ok. I no longer feel the need to hide my feelings. I no longer feel guilty for speaking his name, and I'm no longer ashamed of getting upset. The horrific memories of the moments of his death have faded and the wonderful memories we made together have come back to the surface. I close my eyes now and I hear his laugh, his jokes, I see his face...and best of all, I still feel his love...and all of that makes me smile. They say that time heals...and I believe it does. They say that grief never goes away, it just gets easier to deal with. I'd say that is true.
It's evident by your attendance here tonight that - no matter how long it's been since your loved one died - it's still important for you to take time to pause and remember what he or she meant to you and your life. That's truly amazing...and is a wonderful example of how...through memories...people can live forever. For me, I carry my memories of Jason where ever I go, and take a moment every day to say "I love you."
I heard the poem I'm about to read in a movie called In Her Shoes, and the first time I heard it, it didn't mean a thing. I heard it again shortly after Jason died, and the words just stuck with me. It's called I carry your heart with me, by E. E. Cummings.
“I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go. And whatever is done by only me... is your doing. I fear no fate... for you are my fate. I want no world, for you are my world. Here is the deepest secret no one knows. Here is the root of the root... and the bud of the bud... and the sky of the sky of a tree called life which grows higher than the soul can hope... I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.”
Thank you.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Happy Birthday, My Love
September 18, 1969...the most beautiful man I've ever met was born. September 18, 2009...the most beautiful man I've ever met was supposed to turn 40 years old. May 28, 2009...the most beautiful man I've ever met was stolen from my life.
I've been dreading this day for weeks...knowing full well that I'd lose it. Jason's friends and I had already begun planning a celebration for his 40th birthday before things took a turn for the worse. We decided in the days after his death to continue with a few of those plans. Tonight, we'll be meeting for a quiet dinner at a friends house to reflect, remember, reminisce, and REALLY cry. Saturday, it's a night out on the town - the way Jason would've wanted to celebrate.
It's almost been 4 months since the love of my life took his last breath. I can still hear the sound. I can still feel his clammy hand in mine. I can still picture him laying there, eyes closed, as he gasped for one last time...and let go. It's like it was yesterday. The pain, the loneliness is still so incredibly strong. I don't feel it all day everyday like I did in the beginning. But, when I open myself up just enough to let some of it in, it's like a flood and I can hardly contain it.
This weekend is more than Jason's birthday. It also would've been our 2 year anniversary. 2 years! How is it possible that 2 short years seems like a lifetime? It just doesn't make sense.
Jason, where ever you are, I hope you will be celebrating with us - as we honor you, honor your birthday, and celebrate your life. I love you so incredibly much, and I miss you more with every second that passes.
Happy Birthday, my love. You're 40 years old now, and you're BEAUTIFUL!
Until next time --
Stuart
I've been dreading this day for weeks...knowing full well that I'd lose it. Jason's friends and I had already begun planning a celebration for his 40th birthday before things took a turn for the worse. We decided in the days after his death to continue with a few of those plans. Tonight, we'll be meeting for a quiet dinner at a friends house to reflect, remember, reminisce, and REALLY cry. Saturday, it's a night out on the town - the way Jason would've wanted to celebrate.
It's almost been 4 months since the love of my life took his last breath. I can still hear the sound. I can still feel his clammy hand in mine. I can still picture him laying there, eyes closed, as he gasped for one last time...and let go. It's like it was yesterday. The pain, the loneliness is still so incredibly strong. I don't feel it all day everyday like I did in the beginning. But, when I open myself up just enough to let some of it in, it's like a flood and I can hardly contain it.
This weekend is more than Jason's birthday. It also would've been our 2 year anniversary. 2 years! How is it possible that 2 short years seems like a lifetime? It just doesn't make sense.
Jason, where ever you are, I hope you will be celebrating with us - as we honor you, honor your birthday, and celebrate your life. I love you so incredibly much, and I miss you more with every second that passes.
Happy Birthday, my love. You're 40 years old now, and you're BEAUTIFUL!
Until next time --
Stuart
Monday, September 7, 2009
September...One Week In.
So, we're a little more than a week into September, and it's going pretty much like I expected. Emotional. Difficult. Gut-wrenching. Ok, so I'm having trouble coming up with other descriptive words tonight. Please excuse me.
I've consciously tried to NOT think about the last few months this week, but the more I worked at not thinking about it...naturally, the more I thought about it. And of course, this week felt like the longest week of my life. It didn't seem to end. I didn't help things either by staying up every night running through the events AGAIN in my head. Why do we do this to ourselves? Am I doing this to make sure I remember that it happened, that it was real? I'm pretty sure I know it's real...I lived it, right? Am I doing this because I'm afraid that, as time goes on, I'll forget the details? I'm thinking now that it's that one. Maybe I should start telling myself that I'll NEVER forget it.
I watched a movie last night that I probably shouldn't have. It's called "P.S., I love you" and stars Hilary Swank as a widow (her husband died of cancer, go figure) who is trying to find her way again. To be honest, most of the movie didn't bother me. There were parts I related to, parts I didn't. She definitely took things down a much different path...losing her mind a little after her husband's death. I didn't do that. I kept it together. However, towards the end of the movie, someone was reading a letter from the dead husband to his wife, and there were things in it that Jason had said to me almost word for word before he died. Things like how much I meant to him, how he saw me, etc. When I watched this in the movie, without warning, I burst into tears, practically a convulsing breakdown for 10 minutes. It almost scared me. I haven't cried like that in weeks.
This week, I found myself thinking about Jason's death in the car on the way to work, enroute to meet my parents today, driving home from a show last night. I'll daydream like it's happening now and space out - probably not a good idea since I'm behind the wheel. I even thought about it in the shower today. What is going on?!
I don't know what's happening to me. Could this be the last flood of emotions before I truly let go? There's been a lot going on lately, a lot of possibilities...possibilities that could take me away from Dallas. It's a new job opportunity that I've been straddling the fence about for a couple weeks. I guess it just has me wondering if it's too soon to leave, too soon to have a fresh start. I've moved 4 times to new cities in the last 10 years, and I know how much energy it takes to move and start a new job, make new friends, etc. I just don't know if I have the energy for all of that right now. I mean, shit! I've been through the ringer this year. Is it so awful that I'd pass on an amazing opportunity because I don't want to turn my life upside down again?! Or am I sounding like a little scaredy cat who's afraid to leave the "status quo" for the unknown? What's so good about the "status quo" right now anyway? Maybe a fresh start in a new city would do me some good. Still, I say that, and then I think..."But it's only been 3 months!"
In the words of Carrie Bradshaw...I have to wonder, how soon is too soon move on?
Until next time --
Stuart
I've consciously tried to NOT think about the last few months this week, but the more I worked at not thinking about it...naturally, the more I thought about it. And of course, this week felt like the longest week of my life. It didn't seem to end. I didn't help things either by staying up every night running through the events AGAIN in my head. Why do we do this to ourselves? Am I doing this to make sure I remember that it happened, that it was real? I'm pretty sure I know it's real...I lived it, right? Am I doing this because I'm afraid that, as time goes on, I'll forget the details? I'm thinking now that it's that one. Maybe I should start telling myself that I'll NEVER forget it.
I watched a movie last night that I probably shouldn't have. It's called "P.S., I love you" and stars Hilary Swank as a widow (her husband died of cancer, go figure) who is trying to find her way again. To be honest, most of the movie didn't bother me. There were parts I related to, parts I didn't. She definitely took things down a much different path...losing her mind a little after her husband's death. I didn't do that. I kept it together. However, towards the end of the movie, someone was reading a letter from the dead husband to his wife, and there were things in it that Jason had said to me almost word for word before he died. Things like how much I meant to him, how he saw me, etc. When I watched this in the movie, without warning, I burst into tears, practically a convulsing breakdown for 10 minutes. It almost scared me. I haven't cried like that in weeks.
This week, I found myself thinking about Jason's death in the car on the way to work, enroute to meet my parents today, driving home from a show last night. I'll daydream like it's happening now and space out - probably not a good idea since I'm behind the wheel. I even thought about it in the shower today. What is going on?!
I don't know what's happening to me. Could this be the last flood of emotions before I truly let go? There's been a lot going on lately, a lot of possibilities...possibilities that could take me away from Dallas. It's a new job opportunity that I've been straddling the fence about for a couple weeks. I guess it just has me wondering if it's too soon to leave, too soon to have a fresh start. I've moved 4 times to new cities in the last 10 years, and I know how much energy it takes to move and start a new job, make new friends, etc. I just don't know if I have the energy for all of that right now. I mean, shit! I've been through the ringer this year. Is it so awful that I'd pass on an amazing opportunity because I don't want to turn my life upside down again?! Or am I sounding like a little scaredy cat who's afraid to leave the "status quo" for the unknown? What's so good about the "status quo" right now anyway? Maybe a fresh start in a new city would do me some good. Still, I say that, and then I think..."But it's only been 3 months!"
In the words of Carrie Bradshaw...I have to wonder, how soon is too soon move on?
Until next time --
Stuart
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
September 1st
I haven't been looking forward to September. It's going to be a big month emotionally, physically, and any other ...ally you can think of.
First of all, three days ago marked the 3 month anniversary of Jason's passing. I'd reached the point where I had stopped replaying that May 28th over and over in my head. I'd stopped thinking about the days, hours, minutes leading up to that moment. I thought I had moved past that...but I was wrong. August 28th and the days since, every single night, I've laid awake in bed "daydreaming" those events, conversations, thoughts, and feelings over and over and over. I can't stop it...at least I haven't been able to yet. Even Lunesta doesn't help...though eventually at some point I pass out.
It's not that I want to forget those events...quite the contrary. I just don't want to think about it like this anymore. It's got me wondering if there's something I'm supposed to be looking for, something I didn't see when it was happening that I might need to know now. Or maybe it's just my mind letting me know that I'm not done feeling this yet. Needless to say, there've been a lot of tears this week. A lot of damp pillowcases. A lot of tissues in the waste basket. It's been a while since I've had to open a new box of kleenex.
September brings a lot of mixed emotions. Jason would've been turning 40 years old on September 18th. Oddly enough, that's also the day that the Emmy nominations will be announced this year. Oddly enough, that's also the start of the celebratory Jewish holiday Rosh Hashana - otherwise known as the Jewish New Year. Oddly enough, it's gay pride weekend here in DFW. And, oddly enough, it's the 2 year anniversary of our first face-to-face meeting. That one date, that one weekend holds so much meaning to me this year...more than years past. And oddly enough, I'm not looking forward to it.
After that weekend, there's two more issues with September. The weekend of the 25th brings the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS, an event that was extremely special to Jason. This year, they'll be retiring Jason's jersey and crew number, and they'll be using Jason's bike as the "riderless bike" to symbolize all the people we've lost this year. I'll be at the opening and closing ceremonies with his friends and his parents, who are coming in from Boston for the occasion. I'll be honest when I say - I'm not looking forward to it.
3 days after that, I'll be volunteering and speaking at a city-wide memorial/remembrance service for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I've helped plan the event, know every detail going into it. I'm supposed to write a 3-4 minute speech that I'm expected to give at the event. I haven't written a word. Again, I'm not looking forward to it.
This month will bring day after day of reminders, inuendos, thoughts, and constant realizations that I've lost my soulmate. I AM NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO IT.
There is ONE thing I am looking forward to...O C T O B E R!
Until next time --
Stuart
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