Image via WikipediaToday I came across a forgotten journal that I started about a year or so after Roman's death. There are only a few rambling entries, but there are two that I think are relevant and coherent enough to share.
February 12, 2008
Ever since my life changed last year, I have avoided sitting down to write about it. Probably because it is something so painful that I don't want to think about it, even though I think about it all the time. Also, because it is so big and tangled, I don't know if I will ever understand or really be at peace. For the most part, life has moved on for me and good things have come. But still somehow I feel damaged and I do not quite know how to make it better.
Now sometimes life feels really hard. I had issues before Roman died, but it was never this hard and scary and overwhelming. It feels like there are so many things that are controllable in my life now, but I do not know how to control them anymore.
From the outside looking in, its probably simple...Just do this or say that. But sometimes, most of the time, I feel so tired and foggy and overwhelmed that I feel stuck. Like I'm running in a race with lead boots wearing goggles smeared with Vaseline. Joy is something that I have truly come to value, but now I am not sure what brings me joy.
Now here I am, describing the after effects of what happened, but have not gone into what came first. I don't like to talk about it, because I don't want to be defined by it. And because I get so sick of people looking at me with pity. While they are well intentioned, they have no idea what I am really dealing with. I don't know why, but I always seem compelled to put them at ease by sharing a few details about Roman - to help them feel validated for reaching out, I suppose. The details I share appear to be the whole story, but they are not.
Its too big, too painful, and too overwhelming to be shared in passing. Not something that can be brought up during social pleasantries or that can be fixed easily with platitudes, pity, or advice. People mean well, but they don't know how to act toward me just with the knowledge of Roman's death. But his death is only part of what consumes me. And I am beginning to despise the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Bullshit. Ever hear of PTSD? Hardly the outcome of a person made stronger. Sometimes I really just want to climb out of my skin.
February 15, 2008
All in all, today was a good day - with the exception of waking up with another cold. Maybe its good. It keeps my system working. I don't know, but it seems that I get sick regularly ever since I started getting serious about school; way back when I was working full time and going to school full time. Its like I reached a stress threshold that my system can't keep up with. But its strange, because I really don't feel particularly stressed. Maybe its just all I know, so I cannot tell the difference anymore.
Roman never had so much as a headache and he dropped dead. I remember him feeling a little under the weather once, shortly after we got married. He rested on the couch briefly. He used to tell me that I would not get sick anymore if I became a vegetarian. I never bought that, because I practically was one when I was with him and I always got sick anyway.
Another time I remember him getting freaked out about a minor ailment. He started to cry as we lay in bed in the dark because he thought he had cancer. The prior summer he had a lump on his leg that turned out to be a strained muscle. But from my understanding, there was initial fear by his doctor that it was cancer. That night, I remember being annoyed at first that he reacted so strongly, because his symptom was something very minor, but then I realized that he was really scared. I remember reassuring him and telling him in no uncertain terms that there was no way he had cancer. I thought it was ridiculous. Impossible. I remembered that night after Roman died, but I hadn't paid much attention to it at the time.
Roman never cried. I wonder now if he feared - or somehow knew - that he would die young.
Once when we went to the zoo, when we were in that primate behavior class together, he was wary of my driving, which apparently was erratic. He let me know several times, by half joking in his usual dead pan tone "uh, I don't want to die today, okay...Take it easy." That was the first time we spent time alone together. He spoke openly with me about a lot of things during that drive. Thoughts about growing up feeling ignored, his general irritation with people, frustration over being perceived as 'mean,' etc. We clicked instantly. But I didn't know him well enough at that time, to know that it was out of character for him to be so forthcoming.
And I find it strange now, like he had some premonition when he said he did not want to die. True, he appeared to be joking, but in hindsight, its chilling. Besides, if he had a sense of his fate, why would he return to running after his first collapse? But I guess, even with that said, he was cautious about running again. He waited a year before actively resuming.
For a time, when we moved to our new apartment, we took advantage of the bike trails in the area. Roman would jog and I would ride my bike. It was a nice, brief time in our relationship. For a short time, we shared something healthy that we could both enjoy. But being the athlete, or lack there of, that I am, I quickly lost interest even though Roman did not.
Of course, he didn't bother to tell me that until the night he dropped the bomb on me. On some level though, I knew he was disappointed. But I do think I would have made more of an effort if I knew it really meant something to him. He just came off so stoic and arrogant; like feelings - disappointment, fears, and wants were beneath him. As though, they were something that only others were burdened by - but never him.
I always had my thoughts about what made him tick. But in truth, I could not have truly known, because he did not know himself. He was a constantly moving target. He just seemed to be beginning to try to understand himself at the time of his death. I feel cheated for him that he did not live long enough to get answers. But then again, knowing Roman, who knows how long he would have searched?
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