death – inside(r) psychoanalysis

Dear G.

1. You died before the pandemic, missed it by a year, exactly. The way you were in the last few years, you would have found it exciting. But you would have found it exciting before the cancer, too, I think. You loved nothing better than an excuse to stay home, chill. Universal chilling would have been a gift for you.

2. You would not have been scared. You had a nice house in the woods and great faith in the love of God. I do too (have faith in the love of God; my house is smack dab in the city), but I am scared for all those who will die of neglect, because our country is built to safeguard the rich and the White.

3. You would have cared about others, too, but you would have found a way to help those around you, way more than I am. You would have been busy on the phone. You might even have risked your own health to make sure others had what they needed.

4. You might have taken someone in. Something tells you me you would have taken someone in. Those who are alone. Those who are scared. It was routine for you to put people up. You and I. were the most generous people.

5. You died way too soon, but I am happy you do not have to be here for the pandemic. I know I just said you would have been okay with it, even liked it, but still, it gives me peace to think of you safe and happy basking in the presence of Love.

6. I haven’t felt much of you since you died, G., I’ll be honest. I thought our conversation would continue uninterrupted but that didn’t happen. You and I, we talked so much. I know there is a plan of love for me in this, too, this silence of yours, or, rather, this deafness of mine, and this is why I carry on.

7. It feels strange to be left here. You and D. and many others, gone. Yet we talked about this, didn’t we? You said you’d help. You promised. I know you are helping me. You are not someone to break a promise — never.

8. What do you want for the anniversary of your death? I know you would like a celebration. I will celebrate for you, honey. I will have a feast here on my own, maybe get S. to join. We’ll have a cake, maybe, some cookies at least. We’ll sing. We do this a lot now. We sing together when we are happy. You would have gotten a kick out of it.

Painting by Beate Tuback, Leaf-Line.

1. My friend G. spent decades in the company of despair. Her despair was deep and unrelenting.

2. During the time she was active, working at her job, and able-bodied she would catch a break once in a while, for a bit.

3. Then she got bad cancer and the despair abated for a while. Cancer felt like a break.

4. Part of the relief was that she thought she would die soon, and that felt delicious to her.

5. But she carried on living for years, and her life went back to being filled with despair, and her lifedespair meshed with the despair of not dying, the incomprehension of being still alive.

6. I didn’t talk to her much during her last few years, but when I did she would ask me if I thought she would die soon, and I would say, Yes, don’t worry, it will be soon.

7. I don’t think she had these conversations with many people. I don’t know that many people would have known to comfort her by assuring of her soon-death.

8. She was never really in physical pain.

9. I think of her often, partly because I miss her terribly, partly because of her depth of her pain.

10. I tell myself I did alleviate it a bit.

11. I tell myself she had moments of tremendous joy and also quiet peace (she did).

12. I tell myself no one knows what goes on in another’s life.

13. I tell myself that the lives of people in great pain have a way, from the outside, to hide the joy the people still feel.

14. My friend G. could never have committed suicide. She said she was too chicken for it.

15. When I think about her, I also think that she left me here.

16. For a while after she died I believed she might help me from the heavenly dimension where she certainly is, but I haven’t felt her help.

17. I haven’t even felt her presence.

18. This person was more than a sister to me, more than a friend. She was my life.

19. Why isn’t she talking to me.

20. Why isn’t she helping.

Painting Alexei Adonin