It's not just that my person died by Kristina Notting
It's not just that my person died.
It’s that he left me long before his last breath.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that his illness overtook him like a predator takes down its prey.
It's not just that my person died.
It’s that I watched and felt him dying, both of us bereft, helpless, tormented.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that we were met with callous indifference as we battled for his young, precious life.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that I watched him become someone who was not my person, who terrorized me, who became my abuser, and still I loved him.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that I spent years trying to save him and, in the process, lost peace, hope, and myself.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that I had to prepare myself to lose him only to realize nothing could prepare me for that cruelest of losses.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that I am now heartsick and lost with a basket full of unanswerable questions, trying to sew meaning out of ashes.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that I will never get to hold him again. Never get to know him. Never get to watch him become the fine young man full of dreams and love that he should have been.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that I need to explain to you that this was not a choice, that this was preventable, that this is not a moral failing, or a parenting failure, and that I am not alone.
It’s not just that my person died.
It’s that a part of me died too.