On the 13th of March this year, my dear friend Isabelle passed away just 6 days shy of her 90th birthday, and her husband Neil not even a month later on the 9th of April, which is a day after mine. Most of my friends & family that paid attention to my personal Facebook page will know of this. My Mom got a call from about 2:15 to 2:30 that morning with the tragic news, and I don’t think either she or myself got much sleep that day (Got about 4 hours & 15 minutes worth myself). Once it was the afternoon, she went over to the home that was housing Isabelle, grabbed her stuff, and brought it back home. Same with Neil: went over to the home, got his stuff, and came back. Most of it was returned to their home, but some of it was given out to friends & family with the blessing of their son (Won’t get into him. Long story.). However, I digress....
On that day, I think I’ve finally become broken somehow. I admit that since 2020, I’ve slowly begun to have a more negative outlook on life, but there was always something that kept me going. Then, towards the end of 2023, the two were beginning to have some serious issues (Won’t get into it here), and it became obvious that they needed more care than they were already getting. It was draining, but Mom & me managed. Then of course a few months ago they both passed on, and.....I think I’m finally broken in some way.
I didn’t cry that morning, and I still haven’t cried. Isabelle to me was the second coming of Christ, and I haven’t shed a single for her & her husband.....but I know that their deaths have left a permanent scar on my armor. I loved the two of them with all my heart, but I have lost two people who were incredibly dear to me. Isabelle in particular was so important in my life, that I considered her to be my Grandmother. For almost 20 years, I had one of the best make-your-own-family Grandmas one could ever ask for, but now she’s gone. She won’t ever hear about the conventions I go to ever again. She won’t ever ask me what I want for my birthday or Christmas any more. She won’t ever hear about the concerts I’ve seen, and she won’t ever see the new puppy we got last week. She’s gone.....and I hate it.
I now feel so drained. Not so drained that I don’t get out of bed, but definitely drained to the point where I feel tired most days. There’s still things that bring me joy, but it’s not that many, and it can wear off rather quickly sometimes. I hate this. I hate feeling this so much. Some people deal with death rather easily, but it’s always been a struggle with him, and with her gone from this Earth? I’m not sure that I’ll ever fully deal with this.
However, as crap as I’m feeling right now, I am gonna do a tribute to the living saint next month. About half a decade ago, she let me borrow the manuscript to a book she was writing about her time as a prisoner of war in the Philippines at the Santo Tomas Interment Camp during World War 2. She had a couple chapters written, but never got around to finishing it. Once it hits the 1st of July, I will begin to put up the various section of the potential book, along with the list of summary chapters that she didn’t get around to fully writing out. I hope it’s not too much of a downer, as I fell it’s an incredible way to preserve history.
And that’s how I’ve been feeling for a while now. Again, I’ve been struggling for a bit, and while I haven’t given up necessarily, but it’s getting harder & harder with each passing day. I’m still standing, but my legs are shaking a little. In any case, the Summer Of Sabaton will continue next week. See you soon.
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