An infinite well

I can't believe my last post to this blog was in January...and now it's June. It just goes to show that life continues, even after someone really close passes away. I know that's what he would want too. This picture was taken by my dad. He called it "Tyler's Monument." It's a rock that was near where we spread Tyler's ashes.

We were driving home from Michigan a couple of weeks ago and I was thinking while I was driving. I saw some over-the-top religious symbol on the side of the road. I think it was a gigantic cross. It made me think of the movie "Religulious" by Bill Maher. It's a satire on the hypocrisy of Christianity and it's hilarious!!! As I was thinking about it, I remembered that it was Tyler who told me to go see it. I had another one of those 'I can't believe he's gone' or 'I can't believe he'll never call me up again' or 'he was my baby brother and he wasn't supposed to leave before me' moments and the flood gates opened. It reminded me that grief is an infinite well. If I were to drop a coin in this well and listen for the clink when it hits the bottom, I would be listening forever...waiting for that final sound. When I'm not consciously visiting the well, it's still there and it's still bottomless. It's as deep as the hole left in my soul by his absence. I think about him every day in some way or another. Even as I write this, I have to fight back the rising tide of grief. The moments of complete breakdown may be fewer and farther between, but they are just as strong as the day he left us. There is no end to the infinite well of sadness, but I suppose I am in control of how often I visit it. Sometimes I'm taken to that place without warning and sometimes I go there to take a dip.

I guess it's all part of the journey. The journey that has no destination.

Oceans meet

Last week we were at the Southwestern most point of Australia, near the Cape Leeuwin Lighthouse. It's the point where the Southern Ocean and the Indian Ocean meet. It was an amazingly beautiful spot and I felt blessed to be standing there. I brought some of Tyler's ashes with me when I came over here, but I hadn't really decided where I would leave them. I knew it wouldn't be in Sydney, as Tyler had been there once before. As we stood on this point where the two oceans meet, it suddenly dawned on me that I was standing on the very spot where he would have wanted to be. My dad happened to be with me this day and I asked him to help me spread the ashes. I saved half of them for him. My sweetheart took this picture of me scattering them into the wind. The moment felt the same as it did nearly one year ago when I spread his ashes in Arizona. It was as if a part of me was being ripped away and cast into the wind. I felt incredible trepidation as I walked to the edge of the rock. It was as if I was doing something wrong. Again, it felt like a betrayal in some way. I know he would have loved this beautiful corner of the world and knowing that made it easier to let the ashes go.

My dad said "Rest in peace, my son." I say "I hope you are in a better place and that there was some higher purpose for you in this vast universe. I have to believe that, otherwise your death will never make any sense or hold any meaning."

I love you, Tyler.

Another birthday

It's January 21st here in Western Australia. It's a beautiful day and we're enjoying the company of great mates and family, but there's a shadow looming. Tyler would have been 38 years old today. I imagine myself picking him up at the airport and taking him out for dinner in Freo. He would love it here.

I still can't believe he's gone.
I still get angry.
I still have moments of overwhelming grief.
I still miss him every day.
I don't expect any of that to change.
It's part of my new normal.

Happy Birthday, sweet brother. I can only hope you are somewhere celebrating a new kind of 'life' and watching over us as we toast the life we knew. You are sorely missed and always loved.