Even Finishing the Mouthwash Hurts

Loss happens over and over and over.

I finished a bottle of mouthwash yesterday. This morning, I had forgotten I finished it. I thought there was one more mouthful in it. When I reached for it and realized it wasn’t there I started to cry. And it wasn’t because my morning breath was so bad. Don’t get me wrong, my breath was terrible, but that wasn’t why I was so upset.

The mouthwash was Chloe’s. Our friends brought it over when they cleaned out Chloe’s place. Even though it was cheap as hell and tasted awful, it was hers. She bought it. She had used it. Her hands had touched it. And now it’s gone.

I actually thought about holding onto the bottle for a second. But what the fuck would I do with it? It’s not like I’m going to erect a shrine of recyclables that grows every time one her products gets used up. Maybe I could use the shampoo bottles as pillars like the Greeks did with the Parthenon.

I can see someone asking, “What’s that on your mantle?” What the hell would I respond? “Oh that? I just couldn’t let the hair products go so I thought I would remember Chloe by assembling her garbage into a neoclassical structure. What do you think?” The only fucking question that should follow that is, “Since you’re clearly not seeing a therapist, have you considered it?”

Elastic Bands Snapping

I’ve often thought of ways of describing grief that people who haven’t yet experienced it might understand. I’ve come up with some pretty tortured metaphors that thankfully have never seen the light of day. One that seems to resonate with people is that idea of two metal stakes connected by a million elastic bands of various sizes and strengths.

The loss of someone close to you is what I like to refer to as a Significant Emotional Event (SEE). It’s a powerful, impactful experience that can lead to major changes in a persons beliefs, perspective and behaviour. They can act as a catalyst for growth or they can really fuck you up. Or they can fuck you first up and then act as a catalyst for growth.

When your loved one dies it’s like the universe drives one of the stakes into the ground. It’s stuck in that moment and there’s no fucking way to get it out. It’s like Excalibur stuck in the stone, and you aren’t King Arthur. You’re just a weak-assed dickwad pulling with all your might and getting nowhere.

The other stake is welded to the present moment. The passing of time pulls it further and further from the other one. As the distance between them grows the elastic bands holding them together stretch. Before long, the weakest ones start to snap. It hurts every time it happens.

I remember a big one for me was Cindy’s voicemail recording. After she died, I used to call her phone number and listen to her voice message. Sometimes I’d do it five times per day. Hearing her voice helped me feel connected to her.

After a couple of months, I called her number and was met with, “The number you have called is not in service.” I called back a few times and it was the same goddamn message every time. One of the elastic bands had reached its limit.

SNAP!

Another one was when Chloe lost her first tooth. It happened about a year and a half after Cindy died. It was a major milestone in Chloe’s young life that Cindy had missed out on. She’d miss out on every one that followed.

SNAP!

I remember walking with the kids one day quite a few years later. I looked at them and thought, “If Cindy walked by them on the street right now, I don’t think she’d recognize them.”

SNAP!

A few years ago, one of the girls was in tears because she couldn't remember Cindy at all. Watching their desperate attempts to cling to lost memories was heartbreaking. It felt as if they were trying to grasp at smoke with their hands, only to have it inevitably slip through their fingers, no matter how hard they tried.

SNAP!

The Cycle Begins Again

Now Chloe is gone too. Another stake has been driven into the fucking ground and another one surges relentlessly forward. Already the bands have started to snap. I feel stuck between these two sets of posts racing forward. I don’t know how to get out from between them. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to try.

I sent Chloe a text a few weeks ago. I wanted to tell her about something cool that happened at work. I knew it wouldn't be delivered. I had already cancelled her phone. I was scared to send it to her because I knew it what would happen. And yet I secretly hoped maybe somehow I would see the “Delivered” tag underneath the message.

What difference would it make anyway? It’s not like her messages getting delivered is going to bring her back to life. It was still jarring as hell to see the red exclamation mark beside the texts telling me they couldn’t be delivered. I sat and stared at my goddamn phone hoping I could make the exclamation marks go away with the power of my mind. No dice. They just sat there staring back at me. I actually felt angry at a tiny image of an exclamation mark.

SNAP!

We have a bunch of her shoes here. This might sound disgusting, but I picked one up and smelled it the other day. I could ever so faintly smell her perfume on the shoe. How the hell do people have shoes that don’t smell like total shit like mine? You’d think my being able to smell her might be a nice memory. It wasn’t. All I could think about is that the smell would soon fade away to nothing. It probably has already.

SNAP!

I had Chloe’s picture on the home screen of my phone. I noticed it was bothering me to be casually glancing at her picture without the proper amount of reverence. So I took it off. SNAP! Then I felt guilty so I put it back on. Then I took it off again. SNAP. On. Off. SNAP! On. Off. SNAP! FUCK!

That’s what my life feels like right now. Everywhere I turn I’m waiting for another one to snap. Not knowing when it’ll happen next is the worst part. I’m always on edge waiting for it. I know it’s coming. It’s almost impossible to live in the present when I’m afraid of the future.

But They Can’t Kill Me

Anyone who has had a sibling has probably pulled back an elastic until its breaking point, lined up their face and let it go hoping it would leave a welt. If you got caught, your mom would sternly lecture you about someone losing an eye. You’d treat her admonition with about as much seriousness as you did when she told you to wait thirty minutes after your lunchtime cheese sandwich before swimming with your friends.

When you did connect with the perfect sniper shot your brother or sister would jump and cuss you out. And no damage would be done other than a small sting and a maybe a welt if the shot was truly epic. So you continued doing it to one another until, if you were boys, you turned thirty.

The reality is, regardless of what I do, the elastics are going to snap. And it’s going to hurt when they do. Some of them will hurt a lot, but they won’t kill me. I’m too strong for that. And they won’t all break. Many of them are so strong they will last my lifetime without breaking. The strongest ones are made of our hugs, our laughter, our nighttime chats, our rides to work and all of our other wonderful memories.

I love Chloe to bits but let’s face it, her choice of mouthwash was shit. It tasted like rubbing alcohol and some chemical flavouring that is probably banned in half the countries around the world. Finishing it off has created the space for me to get something better. Just like accepting that the smaller bands will snap will allow me to focus more of my time on what gives the stronger bands their strength.

I love you little buddy and I always will.