Left and Leaving

My last post on grief went far longer than I had meant it to. It turned into a flow of conciousness, which was not what I had intended. Let me try again.

After Eric died, the first year was hard. I cried a lot. I was pissed at him for doing something so stupid. I went to his grave on the anniversary of his death. I planted mums that year, four of them. The red, orange and yellow looked great around his headstone, which had been inscribed with, "Beautiful Boy." After the first year of grieving, it got better. I continued to visit his grave every October 3rd. I brought a plant each year; roses, ivy, tulip bulbs. Typically, the only time I would feel sad about his death was on the anniversary. I would wake up crying on those days. I would cry like it had just happened. My body remembered this loss. The remainder of the year was fine. I thought about it, but I was very much at peace with the fact that we all will die when at the perfect moment. We go when we are supposed to, according to a higher power, and it never seems fair to the ones left behind. This past October was the tenth anniversary. I went, I planted, I cried. I felt better the following days. The night after my birthday, in December, I woke up from a dream. Eric and I were laughing together in the back of a van. His laugh was so clear and so happy. We were just sitting and cuddling and holding hands in a way that good friends can. It was so nice. I awoke and looked at the clock. I realized that it was a dream and that it was over. I felt sad that it was over because I was greatly enjoying the dream while it lasted. I fell back asleep and went on to have three more dreams with Eric. We were so happy. He was laughing!!! He was all grown up and tall and still had his red hair, but no acne. He was handsome and he was my friend again and we were hugging. It was all 100% platonic, but also with the intensity of seeing a lover that has been away for too long. I was just so excited to be with him, I just wanted to touch him to make sure he was real. In my dream, he was. I woke up from the fourth dream and I knew that was all the time I was allowed to spend with Eric.

Since those dreams, the wound that was left by his death has been ripped open. It hurts so much more now. I had gone 10 years without him. I had grown accustomed to the fact that I would never see him again. Now, I feel like I was teased. He came and showed me that he was happy now, which is very comforting. But I also feel cheated. He was in my hands, I could feel him again, only to be taken away. Again. I feel honored that he came back to visit me, that I got to have these four more interactions with him, happy ones at that. I know it is selfish to want more. I should be so grateful that I had these, which I am. But I want more. I don't want to have to wait ten more years to hear him laugh.

I have cried more for Eric since December than I did in the previous nine years. I cried at Denali's 5th birthday party. I cried because Eric would never get to know this sweet little soul that has been entrusted to me. When I was at The Forecastle Festival In Louisville a few weeks ago, The Flaming Lips played Do You Realize? I cried again for Eric, knowing that he would have been at shows like this. I googled his name today, doubting that anything would come up. Nothing did. This made me sad. There is no record online of him. In the nearly infinite amount of information available on the internet, there wasn't one little thing about him. I don't want him to be forgotten. As I write this, I am realizing that these dreams were presented to me as a means of ensuring that my memories of him stay fresh. If they had not occurred, I would not be sitting here crying over my computer ten and a half years later. I wouldn't have thought of him at Denali's birthday party. Without those dreams, I would not be writing this post about him. You would never have known about Joshua Eric Crusott.

I could keep writing about this for a long time. Someday I will. But for now, I am unsure of how to end this post. Grief is a funny thing.