As we approach the one-year mark since Amir's death, I am finding it harder to cope with the loss. Perhaps it's because I miss him more as time goes on or because I reflect back on the mind-numbing shock of receiving that horrible phone call. Or because his death has changed my life in nearly every way imaginable and I struggle to look forward to a future without him in it. Fall is by far my favorite season, but this year it is so tinged with loss and longing that I'm filled with dread for the weeks to come. First, my wedding anniversary is this Sunday and I'm not sure how I will commemorate that sweet, happy day, which also was my late mother-in-law's birthday.
I turned 44 a few weeks ago, a day filled with longing for Jason and the way he always made my birthday special. But marking that occasion was also painful as I consider the possibility of living as many years without Amir as I did with him. Not that I don't aspire to live a long life, but I struggle to imagine all those years ahead without him (and Jason, in a different way).
After feeling numb for much of the past 11 months, I've become more sad these past few weeks. Who said grief was supposed to get easier?!? Shortly after Amir died, I began to feel a strong urge to do something more meaningful with my life, which I'm sure is a common feeling for those who lose a loved one at an early age. But, in those early days, my job was a great comfort. Going to work each day, keeping busy with projects and being among my kind coworkers helped me cope with my grief. My job also provided a lot of comfort in the first few weeks after Jason died--I needed to be in my routine in order to feel "normal" (whatever the fuck that means anymore).
But, almost suddenly, over the past few weeks, I have felt an overwhelming indifference toward my job and my routine. I just don't give two fucks for anything but my immediate family and friends. Much as I like my job, I am growing ever more intolerant of staring at three cubicle walls all day and performing my regular job tasks. Everything feels so meaningless and futile. I ache to escape the tedium of that 9-5 routine in which I have always thrived.
So, now that I've decided my job is meaningless and I can no longer stomach the daily grind, WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO? I'm not naïve enough to think I can find a way to change the world. I just want so badly to do something that honors these two beautiful souls--my brother and my husband--who did not get the chance to accomplish or contribute what they wanted or to live their lives in ways that made them proud and happy. I'm sad for us having to live without them, but I'm also overwhelmingly sad for them, for all the things they will miss out on, for all the years they should have had ahead of them.
23 October 2015
26 September 2015
Cool Morning
It's finally feeling like autumn here. This chilly morning, I reached for Amir's green hoodie to warm myself up and a flood of emotions came pouring over me. The hoodie doesn't smell like Amir but I can visualize him in it and it comforts me and tears at my heart all at once. I have been missing him horribly these past few weeks. Losing Jason has made Amir's death more painful and real to me in many ways, even though some days I find I'm so lost in thoughts of Jason that I don't think of Amir for hours on end. The two of them battling for space in my mind, pulling my emotions in two different directions, leaving me confused and spent--I can almost imagine them enjoying torturing me.
Music destroys me and makes me fucking nuts. So many songs remind me of each of them and there are few overlapping, which makes three-quarters of my music collection unlistenable. So, I turn to streaming music and I still get punched in the face. This morning, it was Elliott Smith, whom Amir and I both adored and who Amir related to in ways I never could. I remember talking at length with Amir after Elliott's death. Amir had five more years of life than Elliott did.
Last night, on my commute home, it was Radiohead. Neither Amir nor Jason shared my complete love of Radiohead, but they both appreciated the band's brilliance and significance. Whenever they released a new album, Jason and I would listen to it and appreciate it together, while Amir and I would talk about how they remain so relevant after all these years.
Losing my two closest friends on this planet so close together has left me feeling so lost that some days it's all I can do to remember my own name. I ache to talk to them. I ache to hold Jason one more time, to kiss him and embrace him and hold his hand. I dread the future in many ways, knowing neither of them will be a part of it except in my heart and memory. I never realized how much of grief is about dreading the future. Because of how I've grieved for Amir and how I miss him more now than ever, I know my grief for Jason is not going to get easier with time. The reality may sink in more and the day-to-day pain may lessen, but as the days and months keep passing without them, I find myself more and more distraught that they are not here and so very angry at the universe for taking them when we need them here so badly.
Music destroys me and makes me fucking nuts. So many songs remind me of each of them and there are few overlapping, which makes three-quarters of my music collection unlistenable. So, I turn to streaming music and I still get punched in the face. This morning, it was Elliott Smith, whom Amir and I both adored and who Amir related to in ways I never could. I remember talking at length with Amir after Elliott's death. Amir had five more years of life than Elliott did.
Last night, on my commute home, it was Radiohead. Neither Amir nor Jason shared my complete love of Radiohead, but they both appreciated the band's brilliance and significance. Whenever they released a new album, Jason and I would listen to it and appreciate it together, while Amir and I would talk about how they remain so relevant after all these years.
Losing my two closest friends on this planet so close together has left me feeling so lost that some days it's all I can do to remember my own name. I ache to talk to them. I ache to hold Jason one more time, to kiss him and embrace him and hold his hand. I dread the future in many ways, knowing neither of them will be a part of it except in my heart and memory. I never realized how much of grief is about dreading the future. Because of how I've grieved for Amir and how I miss him more now than ever, I know my grief for Jason is not going to get easier with time. The reality may sink in more and the day-to-day pain may lessen, but as the days and months keep passing without them, I find myself more and more distraught that they are not here and so very angry at the universe for taking them when we need them here so badly.
19 August 2015
Goodbye, Again
 |
| Amir and Jason, late '90s |
Amir and Jason were both troubled souls, both tortured by insecurity and crippling self-doubt coupled with a somewhat inflated sense of self-worth common among addicts. They each were keenly aware of how incredibly intelligent, funny, creative and sensitive they were and yet they struggled to achieve the successes and milestones so many of their friends had. There's a reason Jason stepped into my life and became my best friend, lover and partner: I fell deeply in love with a man who was a kindred spirit to my brother, the closest male to me in my life.
I don't believe in heaven or an afterlife, but I can't deny the sense of calm I get in imagining Amir's and Jason's spirits together somewhere, discussing their lives and sharing their relief at being free of the horrific prison of addiction. The idea that they both are at peace--their troubled minds quieted, their anxiety finally quelled--is a comfort to me as I mourn them in different ways. They are no longer struggling, no longer questioning, no longer sad or confused or anxious, no longer suffering.
That just leaves the rest of us to suffer in their absence.
22 July 2015
Your Guess Is as Good as Mine
The following was written by Amir's boss and read aloud during a memorial for Amir held by his coworkers and clients a few days after his death:
"I realized over the last several days that Amir touched everyone's lives who entered the tennis center over the last 6 years. Every kid, adult, member and guest he had helped in this club in some way with amazing poise, courtesy and honesty. That is why I remember I hired Amir that I noticed he had those qualities.
He loved his Lakers and loved baseball and all you had to do is ask him about either and he would start talking. You may have thought he was a quiet, shy kind of guy but just get him going on most subjects actually and it got his mind and voice going.
I learned new things about Amir from members and friends over the last several days that he had shared with different people that I never knew about. Such as his love for doing crosswords with ease (often teasing others who did and those that attempted them, he'd often say the daily crossword was easy and he had already finished it). I also never knew about his love to write literature and his amazing story about his grandmother, who survived Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen concentration camps to eventually get his family to America. If you haven't read this, please do so, it is an unforgettable story.
Amir told me how he felt that SAC [Sunset Athletic Club] had saved his life over the last several years because he was finally able to get insurance to help him with the cost of his medications and treatment. Amir treated SAC and its members as it was his life here. I want to say thanks to all the friends/members that helped him along the way survive through some tough times.
I am going to read you something I found that Amir had written a couple of years ago that I think gives us some insight to how Amir's mind worked and what a great person he was...
"I realized over the last several days that Amir touched everyone's lives who entered the tennis center over the last 6 years. Every kid, adult, member and guest he had helped in this club in some way with amazing poise, courtesy and honesty. That is why I remember I hired Amir that I noticed he had those qualities.
He loved his Lakers and loved baseball and all you had to do is ask him about either and he would start talking. You may have thought he was a quiet, shy kind of guy but just get him going on most subjects actually and it got his mind and voice going.
I learned new things about Amir from members and friends over the last several days that he had shared with different people that I never knew about. Such as his love for doing crosswords with ease (often teasing others who did and those that attempted them, he'd often say the daily crossword was easy and he had already finished it). I also never knew about his love to write literature and his amazing story about his grandmother, who survived Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen concentration camps to eventually get his family to America. If you haven't read this, please do so, it is an unforgettable story.Amir told me how he felt that SAC [Sunset Athletic Club] had saved his life over the last several years because he was finally able to get insurance to help him with the cost of his medications and treatment. Amir treated SAC and its members as it was his life here. I want to say thanks to all the friends/members that helped him along the way survive through some tough times.
I am going to read you something I found that Amir had written a couple of years ago that I think gives us some insight to how Amir's mind worked and what a great person he was...
Endless false starts, hiccups and blown promises later, here we are again. Unsolicited musings from my heart and brain to yours. A lifetime of transformative joys, sorrows, indifference, low-brow humor, cruel irony and bitter sarcasm. From literature to sports, philosophy to pet-rearing, I take pride in spanning a wide swath of disciplines. I intend to take you on a journey that you'll most likely soon forget. I'm your everyman neighbor, if your everyman neighbor was a reclusive, technologically challenged Bar Mitzvah boy with a displaced chip on his shoulder for absolutely no apparent reason. Only one caveat here, folks: Your Guess is as Good as Mine. At turns immodest and self-loathing, decent and crude, radiant and dull. I operate on the premise that we're all individually carving out our place in this world. At the end of the day, the differing paths are all born of the same motivation--the need to sift through the bullshit and chaos and hone in on something authentic and lasting. Corny? Probably. Beautiful? Certainly.Amir, we won't forget your journey."
12 July 2015
If I Could Turn Back Time...
Now you have an earworm. You're welcome!
I haven't written here in weeks but that doesn't mean I haven't written. I just have trouble formulating my ramblings into anything coherent. My thoughts are so garbled these days--I'm struggling with focusing in every sense of the word. Part of that is my health issues (certainly not going into that here) but it's also due to grief. While my parents and sister and I are grieving in different ways, with some obvious similarities, we all share this lack of focus. My mind wanders constantly and thoughts of Amir pull me out of whatever I was thinking or doing, leaving me confused and scattered. No one tells you grief makes your mind stop working properly.
In the days immediately after Amir died, I was desperate to find some kind of support group for my particular type of grief. There are plenty of support groups for parents grieving a child or for spouses who are widowed or for children who have lost a parent*. But I found limited resources for adult sibling loss. One group I found here in NYC didn't have enough participants to continue after the first meeting.
On Facebook, I found Grief Beyond Belief, an online group that has helped both my mom and I immensely. It is here that I can openly share with others and derive comfort and support from people who know the shitstorm grief can dump onto your life and also understand and relate to the ups and downs of grieving that I never would have understood had I not lived it these past 7+ months. I've never met any of them but, as a group, they have guided me through this new reality and I'm very grateful for that.
When I was in junior high, I remember wishing I could rewind time and go back to my younger years, a feeling that hit me even more strongly in high school. Can you imagine being 16 or 17 and wanting to go back to a "simpler time"? Well, that's how I felt. I wrote about it in my journal, how I longed to go back to the days before SATs and AP exams and anxiety over boys and money and my body and college and whether I was smart or savvy enough to succeed in the world.
An oft-repeated adage says "time heals all wounds." And yes, the immediate shock and grief of a loved one's death fades as time goes by. But in some ways, my grief has intensified. Grief changes as weeks and months go by and you get further and further from the time when your loved one was alive. The formerly routine act of turning the calendar page to a new month has become a painful reminder that I'm entering yet another new month without my beloved brother and friend. I ache to be able to rewind time, to go back and be with him again, to have one more deep conversation, one more hug, one more laugh.
The passing of time has factored into my grief in a way I never expected. Members of the GBB group share often about their longing to rewind time. Not to save their loved one or alter history, but to just recall how they felt before their hearts were weighed down by grief and longing. I think of November 2014 and I ache--a deep, painful ache--to go back. If only to tell Amir what an incredible person he is and how dearly we all love him. I know he knew it, but I wish I could tell him one last time.
*In fact, I recently heard a wonderful podcast about a support group for children who have lost a parent. I'm an ass for not remembering which podcast but I can narrow it down to two or three. The name of the support group has completely escaped me. This is why I have to write everything down now. Even the important stuff gets lost amid the chaos in my mind.
I haven't written here in weeks but that doesn't mean I haven't written. I just have trouble formulating my ramblings into anything coherent. My thoughts are so garbled these days--I'm struggling with focusing in every sense of the word. Part of that is my health issues (certainly not going into that here) but it's also due to grief. While my parents and sister and I are grieving in different ways, with some obvious similarities, we all share this lack of focus. My mind wanders constantly and thoughts of Amir pull me out of whatever I was thinking or doing, leaving me confused and scattered. No one tells you grief makes your mind stop working properly.
In the days immediately after Amir died, I was desperate to find some kind of support group for my particular type of grief. There are plenty of support groups for parents grieving a child or for spouses who are widowed or for children who have lost a parent*. But I found limited resources for adult sibling loss. One group I found here in NYC didn't have enough participants to continue after the first meeting.On Facebook, I found Grief Beyond Belief, an online group that has helped both my mom and I immensely. It is here that I can openly share with others and derive comfort and support from people who know the shitstorm grief can dump onto your life and also understand and relate to the ups and downs of grieving that I never would have understood had I not lived it these past 7+ months. I've never met any of them but, as a group, they have guided me through this new reality and I'm very grateful for that.
When I was in junior high, I remember wishing I could rewind time and go back to my younger years, a feeling that hit me even more strongly in high school. Can you imagine being 16 or 17 and wanting to go back to a "simpler time"? Well, that's how I felt. I wrote about it in my journal, how I longed to go back to the days before SATs and AP exams and anxiety over boys and money and my body and college and whether I was smart or savvy enough to succeed in the world.
An oft-repeated adage says "time heals all wounds." And yes, the immediate shock and grief of a loved one's death fades as time goes by. But in some ways, my grief has intensified. Grief changes as weeks and months go by and you get further and further from the time when your loved one was alive. The formerly routine act of turning the calendar page to a new month has become a painful reminder that I'm entering yet another new month without my beloved brother and friend. I ache to be able to rewind time, to go back and be with him again, to have one more deep conversation, one more hug, one more laugh.
The passing of time has factored into my grief in a way I never expected. Members of the GBB group share often about their longing to rewind time. Not to save their loved one or alter history, but to just recall how they felt before their hearts were weighed down by grief and longing. I think of November 2014 and I ache--a deep, painful ache--to go back. If only to tell Amir what an incredible person he is and how dearly we all love him. I know he knew it, but I wish I could tell him one last time.
*In fact, I recently heard a wonderful podcast about a support group for children who have lost a parent. I'm an ass for not remembering which podcast but I can narrow it down to two or three. The name of the support group has completely escaped me. This is why I have to write everything down now. Even the important stuff gets lost amid the chaos in my mind.
07 June 2015
Higher Power
Amir and I had a great many personality traits and beliefs in common, one of which is atheism (or, at the very least, agnosticism--we had not discussed it in some time and though Amir knew that I am an atheist, I can't say whether he had come to the same concrete realization, our shared fondness for Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins notwithstanding). We had talked about the lack of evidence for any type of god or god-like higher power in the world and how glad we were to be part of a family in which religion was never important nor emphasized as an essential part of our lives. For me, the term "higher power" meant nature and the living, breathing world around us, oxygen, water, our universe, our planet, our loved ones--all the things that keep us alive in both the physical and emotional sense. My family and friends are more of a higher power in my life than any god conjured up by me or any religion could be.
I have found heartfelt and helpful support through a Facebook group called "Grief Beyond Belief," which brings together those of us grieving a loved one without the comfort of belief in god. I'll admit sometimes I wonder if I'd have an easier time accepting my brother's death if I believed he was in "heaven" or that he was with our deceased grandparents or that I'd see him again someday. Would mourning him be easier if I didn't believe death was final? If I believed he was still "here" in spirit? I wonder about these things often. The religious find comfort in ways we atheists never will--they express their grief through prayer and belief in god. They glean comfort from their fellow believers and the notion that their loved one is "with god" or "in heaven" or watching over them, a guardian angel.
Comforting as those ideas may be, my logical brain prohibits me accepting those ideas for which there is no evidence. I can only find comfort in my memories of my brother, the life he lived, my memories of him and the love we all have for him. I know that only my own death with be a release from the pain of losing him and other loved ones.
Members of the Grief Beyond Belief group post stories of their loved ones or share their grief in ways that I find comforting, particularly from those who have lost a sibling. I feel a strong connection with people who have lost a brother, just as my mom has found comfort from stories of those who have lost a son.
One member of the group, Amy Teel, recently lost her 17-year-old son. She wrote a long, insightful post that resonated deeply with me and I asked her permission to share it here. An excerpt:
"The problem of evil is one of the main contradictions when I consider the idea that a loving, omnimax god exists.
It cannot. No logical definition for a god has ever been introduced, i do not pretend to need one when tragedy strikes.
The characteristics of all gods on offer are dismantled when a guy like Jake dies.
My son is not the only important & good human to have been taken too soon, to have died while being stellar.
If there was a omniscient god, it would have known this was going to go down prior to February 6th.
If that god was omnipresent it means it stood by and watched.
If it is an omnipotent god, that means it was powerful enough to stop that event in a plethora of ways, but it didn’t.
It stood there, present in the 20 seconds my son was conscious, and did nothing.
If it is an “all-loving god” and it didn’t prevent this event, it cannot be omni-benevolent.
It is logically impossible that that god exists and is "all loving."
The god is dismantled and must be taken out of the equation, and because I consider myself an honest person, it’s gone. Logic dictates, and I do my best to follow only that road.
Some people have said, “God needed him more, he needed another comedian”
A god that needs anything is not a god.
Some have said, “He’s watching over you” or “He’s in a better place"
His optic nerves, his entire body is ashes now, he cannot watch anything. “He” is not a conscious thinker or intender, anymore.
Consciousness, as evidenced, is the result of a brain, nervous system, physiology. It cannot exist without those components.
The dead are dead. The facts are cold, and I don’t need or find any use for an emotional crutch to save me from this bitterness.
Time will carry us to a place where we don’t feel broken.
I am in one piece, I will be able to accept my fucked reality and not find it taking me to my knees, some day. I will do this, because I intend to.
I can take actions that are contrary to the way i feel. I can walk into life and participate, even if I don’t think I have the strength to. We all can.
Jake in skin, is done. There is no evidence that a soul exists.
The ambiguity of supernatural ideas concerning what a soul or spirit would be doing are a mind fuck that my prioritizing of evidence saves me from.
Thank you for understanding, and if you don’t understand, thank you for respecting my lack of belief and instead focusing on being close, loving and fully present."
I have found heartfelt and helpful support through a Facebook group called "Grief Beyond Belief," which brings together those of us grieving a loved one without the comfort of belief in god. I'll admit sometimes I wonder if I'd have an easier time accepting my brother's death if I believed he was in "heaven" or that he was with our deceased grandparents or that I'd see him again someday. Would mourning him be easier if I didn't believe death was final? If I believed he was still "here" in spirit? I wonder about these things often. The religious find comfort in ways we atheists never will--they express their grief through prayer and belief in god. They glean comfort from their fellow believers and the notion that their loved one is "with god" or "in heaven" or watching over them, a guardian angel.
Comforting as those ideas may be, my logical brain prohibits me accepting those ideas for which there is no evidence. I can only find comfort in my memories of my brother, the life he lived, my memories of him and the love we all have for him. I know that only my own death with be a release from the pain of losing him and other loved ones.
Members of the Grief Beyond Belief group post stories of their loved ones or share their grief in ways that I find comforting, particularly from those who have lost a sibling. I feel a strong connection with people who have lost a brother, just as my mom has found comfort from stories of those who have lost a son.
One member of the group, Amy Teel, recently lost her 17-year-old son. She wrote a long, insightful post that resonated deeply with me and I asked her permission to share it here. An excerpt:
"The problem of evil is one of the main contradictions when I consider the idea that a loving, omnimax god exists.
It cannot. No logical definition for a god has ever been introduced, i do not pretend to need one when tragedy strikes.
The characteristics of all gods on offer are dismantled when a guy like Jake dies.
My son is not the only important & good human to have been taken too soon, to have died while being stellar.
If there was a omniscient god, it would have known this was going to go down prior to February 6th.
If that god was omnipresent it means it stood by and watched.
If it is an omnipotent god, that means it was powerful enough to stop that event in a plethora of ways, but it didn’t.
It stood there, present in the 20 seconds my son was conscious, and did nothing.
If it is an “all-loving god” and it didn’t prevent this event, it cannot be omni-benevolent.
It is logically impossible that that god exists and is "all loving."
The god is dismantled and must be taken out of the equation, and because I consider myself an honest person, it’s gone. Logic dictates, and I do my best to follow only that road.
Some people have said, “God needed him more, he needed another comedian”
A god that needs anything is not a god.
Some have said, “He’s watching over you” or “He’s in a better place"
His optic nerves, his entire body is ashes now, he cannot watch anything. “He” is not a conscious thinker or intender, anymore.
Consciousness, as evidenced, is the result of a brain, nervous system, physiology. It cannot exist without those components.
The dead are dead. The facts are cold, and I don’t need or find any use for an emotional crutch to save me from this bitterness.
Time will carry us to a place where we don’t feel broken.
I am in one piece, I will be able to accept my fucked reality and not find it taking me to my knees, some day. I will do this, because I intend to.
I can take actions that are contrary to the way i feel. I can walk into life and participate, even if I don’t think I have the strength to. We all can.
Jake in skin, is done. There is no evidence that a soul exists.
The ambiguity of supernatural ideas concerning what a soul or spirit would be doing are a mind fuck that my prioritizing of evidence saves me from.
Thank you for understanding, and if you don’t understand, thank you for respecting my lack of belief and instead focusing on being close, loving and fully present."
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