"Grief"

"Grief’s a bastard. 

Turns up no notice on the doorstep whenever 

moves in doesn’t shower doesn’t shave 

won’t do dishes 

dirty laundry 

eats badly spends hours in the bathroom 

keeps you awake half the night 

shows no consideration 

puts a filter on all the views 

no matter how sunny it gets 

the place still looks like shit. 

Grief’s a bastard. 

Talks long distance drinks too much overmedicates can’t finish a book 

keeps flipping channels mutes the sound 

turns down the colour 

’til it’s all washed out 

faded away. 

Grief will travel anywhere in the world to be with you 

nothing too extravagant for Grief 

can take the whole sky 

paint it bloodred demolish cities 

call down storms 

turn forests to sawdust 

punch holes in mountain ranges 

bedroom doors. 

Speaks for you 

whether you like it or not 

even though there’s nothing left to say 

and no words left to say it with 

roars furious flails around 

when you ask him how things are the fucker tells you 

trails along behind on walks 

dead-eyed pathetic shuffles 

’til you wait up and turn 

taking a deep breath 

knowing what’s coming. 

Gets old acts distant suddenly doesn’t call for weeks 

then comes over with too much whiskey and a bag of crappy 

skunkweed just to keep you on your toes. 

Jumps you in an alley after a movie 

and while he’s beating you says 

we must keep working on this relationship."

by Geoff Inverarity 

"Death, be not proud"

 A few nights ago I had a dream. Rob wanted to watch a film and I was running around the house like a madwoman. The toilet was leaking. There were all kinds of things falling apart. Why wasn’t he helping me? I woke suddenly and saw the bathroom light was on and the door was slightly ajar and my first thought was that Rob was in the bathroom and I called out to him and then realized it couldn’t be Rob. What do I do with all the questions I want to ask him? 

I am obsessed with death but I am not frozen. I did go to Paris - the second show. I saw a couple of my favourite designers and I was able to focus and send good notes and pictures to the store. I made a quick trip to Vancouver and saw the lawyer working on Rob’s estate and the bank who are dragging their heels and not transferring money from Rob’s retirement fund to me because of my name. I signed Barbara Yvonne Young and they asked me to change it to Barbara Y Young and still they stumbled. Finally a few weeks ago, they asked me to take out the Y… and still they haven't transferred the funds. This is my life right now - erasing Rob’s name from all our joint possessions. How I hate it. 

I didn’t expect to be in such pain over the grouchy old man with whom I’ve lived with since I was 19 years old. I didn’t expect the hell I’d experience in a Casablanca hospital and then in Albi. Brendan flew over and then Michael and finally Gilly so I was never alone. We were with Rob every day, holding his hands, exercising his arms and legs, hoping for a miracle. We didn’t get one. In the end, he died alone at 10:30 at night. I sent a message to the hospital doctor last week, asking how he died. He responded almost immediately: 

"I don't have precise information about his last hours but on the last nurse's visit, he was breathing the same way as in the afternoon (without warning signs). His death was very sudden, maybe by the way of a cardiac trouble or a pulmonary embolism but we can't be sure. The night nurse found him already dead. I'm pretty sure he didn't suffer at least."

Gill and I heard that he had died the next morning. We dressed quickly and went to the hospital. I went in first and touched his cold body - I was shocked at how icy cold it was in the warm room.  I kissed his cheek. I talked a little and said good-bye. My only thought was that Rob wasn’t there. 

On a happier note, I am flying to San Francisco and then catching a shuttle to Carmel on the first of December for a month to be with Gill and family. Brendan with his family will join us on December 22nd. I might go to Mexico in February for a birthday party for the friend whom I’ve known the longest and then I must spend a little time with my family in Ontario. I can only plan one trip at a time as my thoughts are foggy and come out in bursts, staccato, and not always coherently. I am scared, sometimes, that I’ve lost my ability to think clearly, to write, to live my final act with grace. In the lawyer’s office, she asked me what I was going to do now and, from somewhere deep inside me, I said “I want to do something extraordinary”. I have no idea what that is.