1986

*** Posted on Jan 10, 2021 ***

 In 1986, I was 33 and a half. What was happening then?

1986 - The absolute, darkest, scariest, most painful time of my life. 1986.

Feb. 19, 1986 is the day my Herbie died. He looked at me, right into my eyes, as he left this world.

We were all there - Daddy, Mummy, Liz, Brigitte, Bernie, Ed, Richard, Brian and me - holding his hands, surrounding the hospital bed in the living room, holding our collective breath.

His breathing slowed - then stopped - then started again. Over and over, the same pattern, for several hours. And then finally - no more inhalations,. He was gone. Gone, gone, gone. And we were left.

Those first few weeks after his death are a blur. People came, flowers  and food arrived - but I went nowhere.I could not bring myself to even step outside - outside where no one knew of our tragedy - no one knew the world had changed for good and there was no possibility to understand anything ever again.

Somehow a memorial happened. Somehow 500 people showed up And somehow some friends gave eulogies. One of them broke down crying and could not finish. Another said things so true about Herbie that we even laughed - laughed with tears falling down our faces. Our faces - I say our instead of me because at that time it felt like a collective experience

That soon changed. I became alone. More alone than I had ever been before. Full of pain and anger and sorrow and fear and an absolute sense of being turned inside out. I would have to start over - build a new me - or perhaps die. In fact, I saved his leftover morphine in case dying ended up being my best option, (Little did I know the morphine loses its oomf after a time so it couldn't have helped me in that regard anyway.)

in 

1986 - I eventually found a bereavement support group, whom I credit to this day as saving my life. And the facilitator of that group still remains one of my dearest friends. A blessing from those dark times.