I just read this poem on another blog, and just had to put it on mine. Beautiful words that couldn't be truer. This poem was rephrased and based on the book "Saying Olin to Goodbye" by Donald Hackett.
The time of concern is over. No longer am I asked how I am doing.
Never is the name of my partner mentioned to me.
A curtain descends. The moment has passed.
A life slips from frequent recall.
There are expectations...close and comforting friends, sensitive and loving family.
For most, the drama is over. The spotlight is off.
Applause is silent.
But for me, the play will never end. The effects are timeless.
On the stage of my life, he has been both lead and supporting actor.
Do not tiptoe around the greatest event of my life. Love does not die.
His name is written on my life. The sound of his voice replays within my mind.
You feel he is dead. I feel he is of the dead and still lives.
You say he WAS my partner. I say he IS.
It hurts to bury his memory in silence.
What he was in the flesh has now turned to ash.
What he is in spirit, stirs within me always. He is of my past, but he is part of my present.
He is my hope for the future. You say not to remind me. How little you understand that I cannot forget. I would not if I could.
I forgive you, because you cannot know. I strive not to judge you, for yesterday I was like you.
I do not ask you to walk this road. The ascent is steep and the burden heavy. I walk it not by choice. I would rather walk it with him in the flesh.
I am what I have to be. What I have lost you cannot feel. What I have gained you cannot see.
Say Jason, for he is alive in me.
He and I will meet again, though in many ways we have never parted. He and his life play light songs in my mind, sunrises and sunsets on my dreams. He is real and he is shadow.
He was and he is. He is my partner and I love him as I always did.
Say Jason to me and say Jason again.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
What's Next?
For the last few months...well, really since Jason died in late May, there has been distraction after distraction to keep my mind going. That's not to say that I've been in denial about Jason's death...or that I haven't been dealing with it. But, I've had other things, positive things, to keep me going and to help keep my chin up.
However, all of that will culminate in next Sunday's Light the Night Walk for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in Dallas. The day after Jason's burial in Boston I created TEAM JASON for the Dallas walk, and in four months time we became the #1 fundraising team. Just this morning we crossed a major threshold...$9,000! I've worked my ass off over the last four months to raise money and ensure TEAM JASON's success.
But, come Sunday, it's all going to be over. And then what? I was really dreading the month of September because of all the reminders of Jason's absence. But, looking back...I wonder if I was really dreading it...or welcoming it because each event was just one more way...one more reason to feel close to Jason again. His mother asked me today what I'm going to do with myself after Sunday. I didn't have an answer for her...and still don't. I don't know what I'm going to do...I don't know how I'm going to continue to keep Jason's memory alive in me...and alive in others.
I've been kicking around the idea of creating and launching the TEAM JASON website for both the Light the Night Walk and for the Lone Star Ride. But, lately, I'm thinking that's not enough. First of all, those two events are so close together so I'm afraid that people will get confused and it will actually bring in fewer donations. However, I do feel strongly that merging these two teams could be good. I just need to give this project more thought...but it will happen. I will do this. I need to...for me...and for Jason. I will not let his life...his death be for nothing.
If anything, I'd like to use part of the site for reaching out to other widows of cancer. If you read my last blog, you'll understand why. More needs to be done to reach out to those of us who have been left behind...whose love has been stolen by this disease. We cannot be forgotten. Our fight should not be lost.
So, I'm open for suggestions about the new upcoming site. And here's to hoping that I don't lose my mind in a week after the walk is over. I'm really nervous now about how I'm going to feel, what I'm going to think. Will it all hit me at once, or will it be a gradual ambush? I guess only time will tell.
Until next time...
Stuart
However, all of that will culminate in next Sunday's Light the Night Walk for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in Dallas. The day after Jason's burial in Boston I created TEAM JASON for the Dallas walk, and in four months time we became the #1 fundraising team. Just this morning we crossed a major threshold...$9,000! I've worked my ass off over the last four months to raise money and ensure TEAM JASON's success.
But, come Sunday, it's all going to be over. And then what? I was really dreading the month of September because of all the reminders of Jason's absence. But, looking back...I wonder if I was really dreading it...or welcoming it because each event was just one more way...one more reason to feel close to Jason again. His mother asked me today what I'm going to do with myself after Sunday. I didn't have an answer for her...and still don't. I don't know what I'm going to do...I don't know how I'm going to continue to keep Jason's memory alive in me...and alive in others.
I've been kicking around the idea of creating and launching the TEAM JASON website for both the Light the Night Walk and for the Lone Star Ride. But, lately, I'm thinking that's not enough. First of all, those two events are so close together so I'm afraid that people will get confused and it will actually bring in fewer donations. However, I do feel strongly that merging these two teams could be good. I just need to give this project more thought...but it will happen. I will do this. I need to...for me...and for Jason. I will not let his life...his death be for nothing.
If anything, I'd like to use part of the site for reaching out to other widows of cancer. If you read my last blog, you'll understand why. More needs to be done to reach out to those of us who have been left behind...whose love has been stolen by this disease. We cannot be forgotten. Our fight should not be lost.
So, I'm open for suggestions about the new upcoming site. And here's to hoping that I don't lose my mind in a week after the walk is over. I'm really nervous now about how I'm going to feel, what I'm going to think. Will it all hit me at once, or will it be a gradual ambush? I guess only time will tell.
Until next time...
Stuart
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Forgotten Warriors
I'm about to get on a soap box and speak honestly. I apologize in advance if my rant offends anyone. That is not my intention. I am in no way trying to undermine the amazing work that cancer warriors are doing. I am in no way trying to diminish their fight. This is just my view from where I sit.
Since Jason's diagnosis and subsequent death, I've inundated myself with people in the cancer community. Whether it be on twitter, facebook, or other websites...there is certainly no shortage of wonderful cancer fighting organizations. And that's great! I've enjoyed getting to know a few of them personally and professionally, and I admire so very much the work they're doing. I'm even volunteering my time and money with several of the organizations. My beef isn't even with them, per se.
Here's my problem. For 1 year exactly - from May 28, 2008 to May 28, 2009 - I fought right alongside Jason as he battled his disease. I was there for every step, every treatment, every speed bump, and I was there when that beautiful man let go. I had support from friends and family, sure, but I also had the support of a few great organizations. However, that all went away when Jason died. Now that his fight was over, I - the person who fought just as hard as he did - was forgotten. I was discarded as waste - or at least that's how I feel.
Now, that's not to say that every group did that. I've been welcomed into the local Leukemia & Lymphoma Society chapter and have worked my ass off to raise money for our Light the Night Walk team. They've been amazing to me, and I thank them for realizing that just because the person with the cancer is gone doesn't mean that those of us left behind don't need support. I'm all for providing hope, support, and encouragement to those who are still fighting this awful monster. I want everyone with this disease to make it. I don't want anyone to have to go through what Jason went through. It was awful.
But, I'm reaching a point of anger...disappointment...and frustration. There have been a number of times lately like I've "overstayed my welcome". I get the feeling like no one in the "living w/ cancer" world wants anything to do with me - a widower. I suppose I remind them of the reality that cancer kills. I remind them that no matter how much hope you have, no matter how many prayers you say, cancer still kills. I now feel like I've become part of a forgotten group...the widows and widowers who have been discarded from the cancer fight because we remind everyone else about cancer's ugly side. And, to be honest, I'm starting to get a little mad about it.
I told Jason the morning he died that I would not give up the fight. I told Jason that I would continue to fight in his name. That's exactly what I've been doing these last four months. But, I almost feel like I'm fighting alone. I mean, I've got my friends (and his friends, too), and family of course...and there are the wonderful folks at the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society for whom I've helped raise nearly $8,000. Beyond that, though, I feel pushed aside, and I don't know why.
I'm curious to know if there are others who feel this way. I'd like to know if I'm out of bounds on this one...if I'm just being a bitter-body looking for someone to be mad at. I don't think that's the case...at least I hope not. Maybe this can just be chalked up to that whole "everyone else is moving on with their lives and I'm still stuck in the past" feeling.
I really want to be a part of the fight. I want to be a part of the hope, the dream that one day there will be a cure for cancer. But, I also want people to know that until that happens - the reality is cancer does kill. I believe people in the "living w/ cancer" world should hear from those of us who have watched our loved one's battle against the disease end before our eyes. Hearing that reality, in my view, could help ignite even more of a fire to fight.
I guess all of this was sparked by a comment I saw on twitter today. A man who created a cancer organization for young adults with cancer said something that really bothered me. He addressed the members of the media and begged that we all stop using the word "victim" when talking about people with cancer. It's not the first time I've heard someone say that. But what's wrong with the word victim? Does it make the person sound weak? Are they not being victimized by the cancer? Is it not wreaking havoc on their body? Does that not make them a victim? When Jason died...did he not become a victim of cancer? Once again - those who died (and those left behind) are pushed aside because those still fighting don't want to see the other side.
Maybe I'm just being too sensitive. Maybe I'm just angry today. I haven't been angry in a long time.
Until next time -- I welcome your comments.
Stuart
Since Jason's diagnosis and subsequent death, I've inundated myself with people in the cancer community. Whether it be on twitter, facebook, or other websites...there is certainly no shortage of wonderful cancer fighting organizations. And that's great! I've enjoyed getting to know a few of them personally and professionally, and I admire so very much the work they're doing. I'm even volunteering my time and money with several of the organizations. My beef isn't even with them, per se.
Here's my problem. For 1 year exactly - from May 28, 2008 to May 28, 2009 - I fought right alongside Jason as he battled his disease. I was there for every step, every treatment, every speed bump, and I was there when that beautiful man let go. I had support from friends and family, sure, but I also had the support of a few great organizations. However, that all went away when Jason died. Now that his fight was over, I - the person who fought just as hard as he did - was forgotten. I was discarded as waste - or at least that's how I feel.
Now, that's not to say that every group did that. I've been welcomed into the local Leukemia & Lymphoma Society chapter and have worked my ass off to raise money for our Light the Night Walk team. They've been amazing to me, and I thank them for realizing that just because the person with the cancer is gone doesn't mean that those of us left behind don't need support. I'm all for providing hope, support, and encouragement to those who are still fighting this awful monster. I want everyone with this disease to make it. I don't want anyone to have to go through what Jason went through. It was awful.
But, I'm reaching a point of anger...disappointment...and frustration. There have been a number of times lately like I've "overstayed my welcome". I get the feeling like no one in the "living w/ cancer" world wants anything to do with me - a widower. I suppose I remind them of the reality that cancer kills. I remind them that no matter how much hope you have, no matter how many prayers you say, cancer still kills. I now feel like I've become part of a forgotten group...the widows and widowers who have been discarded from the cancer fight because we remind everyone else about cancer's ugly side. And, to be honest, I'm starting to get a little mad about it.
I told Jason the morning he died that I would not give up the fight. I told Jason that I would continue to fight in his name. That's exactly what I've been doing these last four months. But, I almost feel like I'm fighting alone. I mean, I've got my friends (and his friends, too), and family of course...and there are the wonderful folks at the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society for whom I've helped raise nearly $8,000. Beyond that, though, I feel pushed aside, and I don't know why.
I'm curious to know if there are others who feel this way. I'd like to know if I'm out of bounds on this one...if I'm just being a bitter-body looking for someone to be mad at. I don't think that's the case...at least I hope not. Maybe this can just be chalked up to that whole "everyone else is moving on with their lives and I'm still stuck in the past" feeling.
I really want to be a part of the fight. I want to be a part of the hope, the dream that one day there will be a cure for cancer. But, I also want people to know that until that happens - the reality is cancer does kill. I believe people in the "living w/ cancer" world should hear from those of us who have watched our loved one's battle against the disease end before our eyes. Hearing that reality, in my view, could help ignite even more of a fire to fight.
I guess all of this was sparked by a comment I saw on twitter today. A man who created a cancer organization for young adults with cancer said something that really bothered me. He addressed the members of the media and begged that we all stop using the word "victim" when talking about people with cancer. It's not the first time I've heard someone say that. But what's wrong with the word victim? Does it make the person sound weak? Are they not being victimized by the cancer? Is it not wreaking havoc on their body? Does that not make them a victim? When Jason died...did he not become a victim of cancer? Once again - those who died (and those left behind) are pushed aside because those still fighting don't want to see the other side.
Maybe I'm just being too sensitive. Maybe I'm just angry today. I haven't been angry in a long time.
Until next time -- I welcome your comments.
Stuart
Friday, October 2, 2009
To Where You Are
The following song came on the radio tonight while I was driving home from a friends house and I seriously almost had to pull over because I was crying so hard. It's a Josh Groban song (written and performed first by Richard Marx). Here's a youtube video of a live version with a touching story to go with it. Lyrics are below that. Tell me this doesn't make you cry.
To Where You Are lyrics
Who can say for certain
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memory's so clear
Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be (?)
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above
Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen
As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'Cause you are my
Forever love
Watching me from up above
And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave
Fly me up
To where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
I know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
To Where You Are lyrics
Who can say for certain
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memory's so clear
Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be (?)
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above
Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen
As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'Cause you are my
Forever love
Watching me from up above
And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave
Fly me up
To where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
I know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
Thursday, October 1, 2009
My Twin...Sort Of
I had an interesting (and emotional) experience today that I was not prepared for. I'm working on a story about some new medical research (can't get specific...as there are prying eyes on this blog). I was interviewing a patient involved in a local clinic trial for a vaccine for a disease in which there is currently no cure. It's not cancer.
Anyway - the man is gay (hint hint), and was very nervous about doing the interview. So when I met him, I wanted to calm him down and let him know that I know a little about what he's going through - that I'm not just some guy who doesn't care about him. So shortly after we met, I told him that I had recently lost my partner to cancer...letting him know that I'm gay as well. That's when I got the bomb dropped on me that I wasn't expecting.
As soon as I said that...he turned to me and said that he, too, had recently lost his partner to cancer. Further talk uncovered that Jason and this guy's love died from the EXACT same cancer. HOW FREAKIN' RANDOM IS THAT?! Needless to say, that threw both of us for a loop, and by the end of the interview, we were both crying. After all was said and done, we gave each other a big hug.
He said things in that interview that I have said several times...like I wouldn't wish this hell on my worst enemy. It was like I was looking in a mirror. FINALLY someone was sitting in front of me who knew EXACTLY...word-for-word what I had been through and was currently going through. It was an amazing experience...one that I had not experienced this whole time. I've talked to other widows - some with very similar stories. However, I've never met another gay man whose lost his partner to the exact same thing. He knew exactly what it was like. They died virtually the same way. It was really chilling to hear someone else's story - and it was almost identical to mine. It literally sent a chill up my spine.
I also happened to be interviewing this person a building away from where Jason was treated for his cancer. So, after we were done, I popped over to the 5th floor of the cancer center to say hi to all my favorite oncology nurses. I love those ladies so much. They became like family during the whole ordeal, and I don't ever want to lose my relationship with them. I'm making it a point to go see them as often as I can. Some people ask me if it's weird going back to the oncology floor. At first, it was extremely weird and difficult...especially when I ran into Jason's doctor for the first time. I wanted to yell and scream "YOU FAILED!" But, I didn't. It really wasn't his fault. It's cancer's fault. Right?
Until next time--
Stuart
Anyway - the man is gay (hint hint), and was very nervous about doing the interview. So when I met him, I wanted to calm him down and let him know that I know a little about what he's going through - that I'm not just some guy who doesn't care about him. So shortly after we met, I told him that I had recently lost my partner to cancer...letting him know that I'm gay as well. That's when I got the bomb dropped on me that I wasn't expecting.
As soon as I said that...he turned to me and said that he, too, had recently lost his partner to cancer. Further talk uncovered that Jason and this guy's love died from the EXACT same cancer. HOW FREAKIN' RANDOM IS THAT?! Needless to say, that threw both of us for a loop, and by the end of the interview, we were both crying. After all was said and done, we gave each other a big hug.
He said things in that interview that I have said several times...like I wouldn't wish this hell on my worst enemy. It was like I was looking in a mirror. FINALLY someone was sitting in front of me who knew EXACTLY...word-for-word what I had been through and was currently going through. It was an amazing experience...one that I had not experienced this whole time. I've talked to other widows - some with very similar stories. However, I've never met another gay man whose lost his partner to the exact same thing. He knew exactly what it was like. They died virtually the same way. It was really chilling to hear someone else's story - and it was almost identical to mine. It literally sent a chill up my spine.
I also happened to be interviewing this person a building away from where Jason was treated for his cancer. So, after we were done, I popped over to the 5th floor of the cancer center to say hi to all my favorite oncology nurses. I love those ladies so much. They became like family during the whole ordeal, and I don't ever want to lose my relationship with them. I'm making it a point to go see them as often as I can. Some people ask me if it's weird going back to the oncology floor. At first, it was extremely weird and difficult...especially when I ran into Jason's doctor for the first time. I wanted to yell and scream "YOU FAILED!" But, I didn't. It really wasn't his fault. It's cancer's fault. Right?
Until next time--
Stuart
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
A Time To Remember
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 $$. I think Jason would be extremely impressed by all the money we've been able to raise. Seriously. SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS! That's a lotta dough!
So for now, I say goodbye to September. Hello October. And to Jason, I love you, and I miss you every single day. Come see me in my dreams soon.
Until next time--
Stuart
I wrote in an earlier entry that I was not looking forward to September and I just wanted to get through it. Well, tomorrow is October 1st. It's officially the end of September, and I made it through. There were a lot of moments when I didn't want to get out of bed. There were a lot of moments when I just wanted to cry. In fact, there were several moments when I did cry...one time in particular I broke down sobbing at my desk at work. Talk about embarrassing.
My therapist - who I've been working with since Jason was first diagnosed - believes that grief isn't as black and white as those 5 stages we all learn about in school. She believes that grief is a continuous process that circles around...making loop after loop after loop. At the onset, the grief circle is quite compact and tight...intense. But, as time goes on, while you still may be hitting those ups and downs, they're farther from the compact and tight center - therefore less intense. It makes sense. This month was hard. There were a lot of milestones, and they were hard to get through, but they weren't unbearable. I suppose that means my grief has jumped to an outer circle.
So, now it's onward and upward to October. I'm entering one of the busiest seasons for work, and I suppose that's a good thing. It'll certainly keep me occupied. We've also got the Light the Night Walk to look forward to. TEAM JASON is still the #1 Friends and Family fundraising team for the Dallas walk. This week, we hit the $7,000 mark and we're continuing to get donations. I've also got a pretty big auction on ebay that'll be ending next Tuesday that I hope will bring in several hundred more $$. 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
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)