Tomorrow, it is two months exactly that I lost my fiancee KC in a SCUBA diving accident off the central California coast. KC lost his life just 8 days after proposing marriage to me. That day, I was talking to my friend and George, right about the time the sun was going down and I told him that was my scary time, when the boys were out fishing and I hadn't heard from them saying that they were safely back to the harbor. Dave, KC's dad asked me whether or not I was driving, if i was at home or if I was alone. I told him I was with Ashlee at home and asked him if everything was OK. He said no. He fucking said no and I knew KC was gone. KC was missing for a whole day before his body was found. I don't remember much except being taken to the Urgent Care facility with my mom, and I kept asking to go with him, I just wanted to go with KC where ever he was. Sometimes I still feel that way.
I didn't eat for a week, eating felt like a privilege for the living, why should I eat when KC can't? The weight of what it means to lose the absolute love of your life is immeasurable. I waited for someone like KC my whole life, I never loved anyone before, I had never said it to anyone because I never felt it. But I knew I loved KC right away. I knew it was different than any feeling I had ever had, any crush, it was profound and real. KC was no perfect person, by any means, but we were perfect for each other. Everyone around us knew that, too, anyone could see it. He loved me deeply, like what poets write about. I am lucky to have ever known that sort of love, and I knew it while I was in it too, this wasn't something I didn't realize until it was too late. We lived in our love like a vacation.
Now he is gone. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Be strong, move on, live my life. Time will heal my wounds, fucking bullshit. All I am left with is fear and anxiety. I am constantly worried about the loss of someone else. I am scared that something is going to happen to my family, or KC's family or one of our friends. I can't help but think KC would be so much better at this than I am. I bet if the tables were turned and I was the one who passed, KC would be a model of strength and helping everyone around him. He would care for my family and his better than I can, than I am doing. He was so good. All i am doing is sitting here writing this blog for no one in particular to read and I am helping no one. It fucking should have been me, it would have been a hell of a lot easier, anyway, on everyone but especially me. I know it is a super selfish way to think but all I can do now is look out for myself.
Grief is pretty fucked up, and I thought I had seen it before in my life but previous losses have never left such a lasting mark on who I am, or was or whatever.
I am going to write what I feel, I am going to write my dreams and fears and hope that by getting it out might help, catharsis you know. My own personal private public documentation of what it really means to grieve. No censor, no filter, just real and fucked up feelings. No pretty picture, no happy ending, this is real life shit. My life, anew without KC, whether I like it or not.
