July 17, 2016

I have two theories. There’s bound to be some graphic shit in the next paragraphs. Just to warn you.

The first theory is that something happened to his bike, and he lost control and it hit a tree and he had a massive head trauma that killed him before he hit the ground. The flaw in this theory is what a careful and trained motorcycle rider he was (ugh, the past tense!). He would have thrown himself off that motorcycle. He may be mangled, but he would not have hit that tree with his head if there was anyway he was conscious. He knew how to crash. He’d practiced that.

Theory two is a heart attack. He had lost 80 pounds in the two years since we reconnected. I think he was over 250 at his heaviest, and he was only 5’10” (there’s that damn past tense again). He was smoking hot, weighing around 175 when we were together.

I’m not a fat hater. But I see pictures of him heavy, I remet him heavy, and he was barely there. When he first came over, I saw him in his sexy green eyes, but the rest of him wasn’t Rupert, the wiry short kid I smoked weed with and slept with his best friend as a teenager. I would have walked by him on the street like that, not recognized him. It had been 20 years. Depressed from his parents death, Alexius’s death, his beloved Chesapeake Bay retriever Roscoe P. Dawg’s death, and his second divorce. Chain smoking. On cholesterol meds. Bitter.

I think he had a heart attack on that motorcycle.

I think his left side seized up, and he couldn’t grab the brakes. His right side clenched in pain, and he gave the motorcycle too much gas. He lost consciousness, and he hit that tree so hard that he was dead before he hit the ground.

It’s so awful. It’s the end of my world whatever happened. But somehow, it makes me a little more at ease to think it was his time, that heart attack could have killed him in front of our friends, or me, or my kids, or at work. But it happened on his motorcycle, doing what he loved, heading back to my house (I’m listed as his final destination on his death certificate), to be with my friends that were now his friends. The people he’d told that day how excited he was to meet up with me in Greece, how madly in love with me he was, and how he was the happiest he’d ever been in his whole life.

I think he had a heart attack on that bike, and I think he would be gone now anyway.

Either way, he’s still gone, and it doesn’t matter. But I’m alive, and I need to make sense of it.

July 15, 2016

It’s not that I don’t want to live without him, it’s more that I don’t want to live when he’s dead. All I want is for him to not be dead.

I treated myself to a massage today. My massage therapist is a very good witch. So intuitive and wise and seeing. On her table, I said, “I can’t leave the moment Jared said that horrible sentence and I was on the hotel room floor wailing, “Oh my god oh my god oh my god” over and over and over again. She said, “Two things. First, let’s look at your language. ‘I can’t leave.’ Instead, say, ‘I can leave…’”

“Second, add something to that moment, something beautiful.”


I was able to do the first easily. The second was blocked for a little while. Then I knew what it was. I had felt like there was something else J said on that call, another part, but of course that’s all be really said. So now, what Jared said to me on the phone is, “Rupert was killed in a motorcycle accident, and he was the happiest he’d ever been in his life because of the two of you.”


I’m still suffering, and he’s still gone, but I AM able to leave that moment. I AM able to leave that moment. I am.

July 13, 2016

I don’t want this. I’m so confused. Nothing makes sense anymore. Rupert is ashes in a box next to me in bed. I don’t want the grief. I don’t want to carry this with me the rest of my life. It hurts too much to bare. It’s endless and its deep and it doesn’t make sense. He’s everywhere I look and nowhere. This is the worst pain there is.

I don’t want to wake up tomorrow. In 14 minutes, it will be the day of Rupert’s memorial. I can’t do this. I can still hear echos of my wails of oh my god oh my god oh my god when I heard he’d died. He was killed. Anguish. It hurts. It’s unbearable.

I need him here with me. He needs to be here with me. We were happiest together. I’m not strong enough to do this. I feel so weak and fragile and broken and lost. I’m so scared. He’s gone forever and it doesn’t make any sense. If only he were here right now, by my side. This hurts so much I don’t know how long I can feel this way.

I’m getting tired from the sleeping pill I took. I’ll try to get some sleep. It’s getting out of bed tomorrow that I don’t know how to face.

July 12, 2016

Come on, Pee!

Rupert and I had the weirdest thing in common- our bladders. We both have to pee before we leave and when we arrive. And not too much longer after that. No one was getting upset at the other when you had to run and pee before leaving the house. We got each other.

I had a strong memory the other night sitting on the toilet, peeing before bed. Like Rupert, I would sit a few minutes to really empty my bladder before going to bed, or I would be up in a few hours. I heard his voice loud and strong in my head, “Come on, Pee!” he would say. “Come on, Pee!” I would reply. And eventually the pee would come, but it helped making it a silly thing that we both understood.

July 12, 2016

Today I had to fill out a DE-111 form. There are no instructions online on how to deal with our situation, which was this:

Rupert’s next of kin is not an American citizen, we have not yet found the Will, and he and I were not married or living together. My name is not on his lease. The landlord needs to protect himself while there is no Will (yet!) to make sure the rightful heir doesn’t come out of the woodwork next week and we’ve cleared everything out. Makes sense, but there is no one who could do this, and he couldn’t be nastier to us. We went to the county court house to get a court order to file with his landlord. Mission accomplish.

There was no boilerplate to this document. I had to fill out a blank page about what and why I wanted, and I had to make it fire proof. Here is what I wrote on attachment 3f(3):

Petitioner requests authority to:

  • have full and unfettered access to the property at (address) through to the end of the lease of (deceased’s name). This includes all keys, as well as access to and the right to make decisions and execute the decisions of all personal and financial items of the deceased in the home, backyard, and garage.
  • The landlord will not oversee the actions of the special administrator or the deceased’s next of kin or any friends or family.
  • The special administrator is authorized to discuss and access all personal property, financial property, real property, Will if found, insurance, death investigation, and all of the deceased’s documents, accounts, and claims.
  • The special administrator will make and execute decisions regarding the deceased’s personal property, real property, and home, and make decisions on who may have access to the home at (address).
  • All points above demonstrate the authorization of the special administrator (name), as well as the deceased’s next of kin, (name).