Grief & Guilt

If I leave you it doesn’t mean that I love you any less. Keep me in your heart for a while.
– Warren Zevon

It has been an entire year since we lost Kevin. In fact, today marks one year, exactly. I’ve been so distracted by so many things that I can’t believe an entire year has passed, already. My body has a way of ensuring that I never go without recognizing the awfulness of April; something biological that insists that I grieve, again.

I’m in a good place, right now. I feel much healthier and emotionally stable, but in feeling better, I also feel incredibly guilty. How can I possibly be doing well when he is gone? How can I survive (let alone thrive) knowing that he never had that same opportunity? How can I not continue to be completely consumed by sorrow? I once felt that I would never be okay, again. How did I get here? Life moves on, I guess.

It will take me a long while to reconcile that doing well does not mean that I have forgotten him (or my mother) or that I care any less. I miss him, every day, but now, rather than being brought to tears whenever I think of him, I have a renewed sense of determination. (Note: I have not been cured of my grief. I still cry over things. I cried while writing this blog post, but I don’t do it nearly as frequently as I did.) It almost feels as if my personal success is his success.  If I accomplish something, it is done in his honor and I can say that we did it. It’s a new perspective and I welcome it.

Grief is a cunt bitch and sometimes the way we cope can be self-destructive. I know it is beyond cliché, but I truly believe that our loved ones who are gone would only want the best for us. Kevin was always my champion in life and had I completely given up (which I nearly did), I would be doing his memory a great disservice. The best thing I can do is continue to think about him, talk about him, and share his music.

So today, for all of you who loved my brother or whose life was made even slightly more fun for having known him, please bump some Sticki Greenz, smoke a bowl, and pour one out for your homie.

I love you, mom. I love you, Kevin. I miss you. I will do my best to make you both proud.

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