Eddie has been dead for 3 years, 4 months and 26 days.
And I'm still writing about him.
Here's the deal - I really think I'm doing pretty well. Contrary to what some may think, I don't spend my days in the fetal position swearing at the heavens. I live a pretty normal, happy life. Or at least, what normal has become for me.
As I've said a million times - grief is a process and none of us really know how we'll handle it until we've actually been thrust into it.
It is quite possible to be happy and sad at the exact same moment. It is possible to be totally in love with someone who is gone and yet look forward to the next chapter of your life. And of course, it is possible to laugh and cry at the same time for the exact same reason.
Eddie was someone who held on to things. All kinds of things. And I have been the keeper of those things since his passing.
He died without a will and he died just months before our wedding. Up until the year of his death, he had little to no contact with anyone in his family other than his Aunt Pat, his half-brother, Mike and a few others from his father's side. His memories of life with his mother left him with no desire to reconnect on that side. A few calls and a visit with his oldest sister a month after his mother died was all that he seemed to need.
But in 2009, everything changed. Through the wonders of technology, he reconnected with family after decades of no contact at all. And he was thrilled about it. His relationships with his brother, Jonathan and his niece, Cassy were cemented quickly. The three were so similar in humor and intellect it is a testament to DNA. Within a few short months he had visited with his other brother, David and had attended his niece's wedding with his sister, Amy.
I have wondered many times how much more awful losing Eddie would have been without Jonathan being here. What it would have been like dealing with other, less compassionate members of his family.
Sitting in the special room at Grady Hospital (the room away from all the others where they take you to give you the really bad news), one of the first questions I was asked was, "Who is Eddie's next-of-kin?". It seemed like an odd question especially given Eddie's family dynamics but the law does not care about all that. There were at least five people who were closer to Eddie than anyone in his family with the first on the list being me. But I answered quickly and gave the social worker Jonathan's name and phone number. And of course, he was the first person I called once I became somewhat coherent after being told they "could not resuscitate him".
From that moment on I was not recognized by the hospital, the funeral directors, the police, lawyers, insurance companies, or the courts as anyone other than the bereaved girlfriend. Once it was determined that Eddie did not have a legal will - well, I became even less important.
Except to Jon. He refused to let a single detail related to Eddie's death go un-discussed with me. Sitting in the formal rooms at the funeral home the director asked all questions to Jon, who would then turn to me and wait for a response. Once I answered, he would repeat what I said to the funeral director who was sitting right beside me.
The director was not being disrespectful, he was simply complying with the law.
No marriage license, no will, no rights.
Eddie was very vocal that he wanted no one from his family to benefit in any way from his death. But that was Eddie - big on talking about these issues but a born procrastinator. Of course the irony that we discussed getting the wills and all other legal documents taken care of right after the holidays was just one more cruel twist to this sad story.
Eddie didn't have any money. He just had a lot of stuff. And according to the law, it belonged to his six siblings. I was named administrator of the estate and over the last few years managed to sell off the items worth anything, paid outstanding debts and finally, after much unnecessary drama - wrote checks to each of the heirs. I made my peace with it almost immediately after his death. Money had nothing to do with my love for him. But doing the right thing by him became the most important thing in my life.
But there was still the matter of the stuff. Boxes of stuff still sat in the garage and basement. No monetary value - but worth so much to the man who saved all of it.
Jon, my sister and I had made a few half-ass attempts at combing through it after John Pedrow had so patiently sorted and organized it all. It was tedious and emotionally draining. And so the boxes sat.
I am no psychologist, but I have a few brain cells up there that tend to manage a logical thought process. Every single day those boxes haunted me. I knew I needed them to be gone before I could continue my journey.
And after 3 years, 4 months and 26 days they are finally gone. I have spent the last 5 days processing what remained of Eddie's memories.
What an amazing life he led. I know now why he kept it all. He wanted to hold onto the physical evidence of the wonderful experiences and fantastic sights. Every, single, amazing memory.
I managed to hold it together until I got to the boxes from the last 3 years of his life. The ones that had pictures of me from his desk. Notes and cards I had written to him. Mementos from our travels together. He even kept the cheap vases that had held flowers I had sent him.
I was finally processing Our memories, not just his memories.
There is still stuff - but it is the stuff that is meaningful to me.
My garage and basement are clean and orderly for the first time since he scoped it all out on our first date.
It is stunning to me how different it feels to have those boxes gone.
The beauty of it all - I will always have the memories. And that is all that ever mattered.
And I'm still writing about him.
Here's the deal - I really think I'm doing pretty well. Contrary to what some may think, I don't spend my days in the fetal position swearing at the heavens. I live a pretty normal, happy life. Or at least, what normal has become for me.
As I've said a million times - grief is a process and none of us really know how we'll handle it until we've actually been thrust into it.
It is quite possible to be happy and sad at the exact same moment. It is possible to be totally in love with someone who is gone and yet look forward to the next chapter of your life. And of course, it is possible to laugh and cry at the same time for the exact same reason.
Eddie was someone who held on to things. All kinds of things. And I have been the keeper of those things since his passing.
He died without a will and he died just months before our wedding. Up until the year of his death, he had little to no contact with anyone in his family other than his Aunt Pat, his half-brother, Mike and a few others from his father's side. His memories of life with his mother left him with no desire to reconnect on that side. A few calls and a visit with his oldest sister a month after his mother died was all that he seemed to need.
But in 2009, everything changed. Through the wonders of technology, he reconnected with family after decades of no contact at all. And he was thrilled about it. His relationships with his brother, Jonathan and his niece, Cassy were cemented quickly. The three were so similar in humor and intellect it is a testament to DNA. Within a few short months he had visited with his other brother, David and had attended his niece's wedding with his sister, Amy.
I have wondered many times how much more awful losing Eddie would have been without Jonathan being here. What it would have been like dealing with other, less compassionate members of his family.
Sitting in the special room at Grady Hospital (the room away from all the others where they take you to give you the really bad news), one of the first questions I was asked was, "Who is Eddie's next-of-kin?". It seemed like an odd question especially given Eddie's family dynamics but the law does not care about all that. There were at least five people who were closer to Eddie than anyone in his family with the first on the list being me. But I answered quickly and gave the social worker Jonathan's name and phone number. And of course, he was the first person I called once I became somewhat coherent after being told they "could not resuscitate him".
From that moment on I was not recognized by the hospital, the funeral directors, the police, lawyers, insurance companies, or the courts as anyone other than the bereaved girlfriend. Once it was determined that Eddie did not have a legal will - well, I became even less important.
Except to Jon. He refused to let a single detail related to Eddie's death go un-discussed with me. Sitting in the formal rooms at the funeral home the director asked all questions to Jon, who would then turn to me and wait for a response. Once I answered, he would repeat what I said to the funeral director who was sitting right beside me.
The director was not being disrespectful, he was simply complying with the law.
No marriage license, no will, no rights.
Eddie was very vocal that he wanted no one from his family to benefit in any way from his death. But that was Eddie - big on talking about these issues but a born procrastinator. Of course the irony that we discussed getting the wills and all other legal documents taken care of right after the holidays was just one more cruel twist to this sad story.
Eddie didn't have any money. He just had a lot of stuff. And according to the law, it belonged to his six siblings. I was named administrator of the estate and over the last few years managed to sell off the items worth anything, paid outstanding debts and finally, after much unnecessary drama - wrote checks to each of the heirs. I made my peace with it almost immediately after his death. Money had nothing to do with my love for him. But doing the right thing by him became the most important thing in my life.
But there was still the matter of the stuff. Boxes of stuff still sat in the garage and basement. No monetary value - but worth so much to the man who saved all of it.
Jon, my sister and I had made a few half-ass attempts at combing through it after John Pedrow had so patiently sorted and organized it all. It was tedious and emotionally draining. And so the boxes sat.
I am no psychologist, but I have a few brain cells up there that tend to manage a logical thought process. Every single day those boxes haunted me. I knew I needed them to be gone before I could continue my journey.
And after 3 years, 4 months and 26 days they are finally gone. I have spent the last 5 days processing what remained of Eddie's memories.
What an amazing life he led. I know now why he kept it all. He wanted to hold onto the physical evidence of the wonderful experiences and fantastic sights. Every, single, amazing memory.
I managed to hold it together until I got to the boxes from the last 3 years of his life. The ones that had pictures of me from his desk. Notes and cards I had written to him. Mementos from our travels together. He even kept the cheap vases that had held flowers I had sent him.
I was finally processing Our memories, not just his memories.
There is still stuff - but it is the stuff that is meaningful to me.
My garage and basement are clean and orderly for the first time since he scoped it all out on our first date.
It is stunning to me how different it feels to have those boxes gone.
The beauty of it all - I will always have the memories. And that is all that ever mattered.
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