| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
|---|
"Greg i want you know that anju passed away today." That's all it said. And I knew right then what had happened. Anju and I met online. Salon personals. For the first year or so everything was wonderful. She said when we met, "I have my demons." And yes, she did. She told me about physical abuse by her mother. When I'd come into our room at night, if I woke her she'd be momentarily terrified by my presence, so I knew there was more she didn't tell. And sometimes at night she would cry out in her sleep. After that first year she became increasingly distant. I didn't see it at first, but after a time she was caring but cordial. When she eventually went on vacation to Paris without me (I couldn't afford it) we both knew. Two weeks after she got back she broke things off for good. I was glad she had been the one to do it. I'd waited for her to do it herself, hoping it would help her feel as if she were taking control of her life. That was eighteen months ago. A few months after we broke up I met Marci. The few times I did have contact with Anju I wouldn't mentioned that I was in a relationship. I never knew whether she was, and I didn't want to risk depressing her if she were not. Seems she didn't need the help. Her brother told me it was likely a painless death: suffocation by inhaling helium. She was very mediculous. She had her affairs in order a week in advance, at least. Her brother says she had files on her computer, spreadsheets and other documents, outligning her affairs with everything in order. This was obviously what she wanted. Yet I am haunted by the image of her lying lifeless in her bed. There were hundreds of people at her funeral. How could someone be so despondant and alone when they've touched so many lives? But I imagine it must have been the pain. It was the pain she only openly expressed once, the first night she was in my arms. I loved you, Anju. I wish I could have helped you more. |
I'm sorry, Antigone, though that word doesn't properly muster my emotional response. I hope that she is free of her demons now. |
|
I'm so sorry. |
Clean, oderless and cheap, it ensures painless death in less than 10 minutes. It's recommended by many Right To Die groups. Such research. At least she is free now. |
i've tried to write other things. but it all comes out crap. |
|
|
|
|
|
oh, how awful! sorry Antigone, that's gotta be really tough. |
sorry tig. |
|
time permits, I wander over to her old place. For years after her death it was exactly the same: through the window off the porch not a piece of furniture moved, and not even the position of the curtains shifted. Her father bought her the place and obviously couldn't bear to part with it or let it even be disturbed. But not this time. It's been about a year since I'd been there last. It was obvious that he'd sold the place. He finally moved on. Or maybe he's dead himself and his son sold the place. Ironically, just down the street is the church where Marci and I were married. I hadn't been back there since the ceremony, some seven years ago. (Not long after I posted above, in fact.) So I drove there, parked in the darkness, and wandered around for a while. During the reception, which was also at the church, I arranged for my friends in a trombone choir to play a piece I had arranged: Frank Sinatra's "It all depends on you." I sang the lead while they played. It's the only time I ever sang for anyone for love, and no doubt the last. But as I wandered in that place there were no tears, and not much feeling at all. I'm past it all, it seems. And I realized at that moment that the rest of my life had started. I have another forty to sixty years left, at least as much as I've experienced so far. Might as well make the best of them. |
|