I certainly underestimated the impact of the first birthday of a loved one that has passed. I knew it would be a special day, sure. But I had no idea that it would hit me that hard. Especially, since I have been and continue to be in a safe place at the moment. My grief, this void inside me, it is safely packed away, stored. It can’t out, it won’t out until I let it. I can look at this deep black hole inside of me and not cry, I can look at it in awe and just stare at it – until it stares back, but nothing happens.
Your birthday was a different issue, though. I woke up, thought of you and and a huge sadness rolled over me. No tears, no. Just a heavy, striking sadness that didn’t leave me for the rest of the day.
Lucky me that I could spend the day with dear friends who loved you a lot. We drank to you, to Micke, to life. We celebrated your gift, your talent, your existence. And it helped to cope with the fact that this was indeed the first birthday without you. The first of many to come. The first without flowers to send to you, as we don’t even know if you have a grave or a place where they COULD be sent to.
After almost six months without you, I still experience moments of “whoa, she is dead”. Then it feels like I just got the news, it’s like realizing it again. And again. And again. On other days I am just grateful, totally aware that your physical presence is gone and happy that your spirit will be with me always. But heaven help me: I. MISS. YOU. And this feeling won’t ever stop. The hole you left in me, this big black void, it can never be filled again and I accepted it. I live with it. And I can deal with it, but on some days it just hurts. Sometimes I have the weirdest dreams about you. Just last week I dreamt that you and Per decided to have one last Roxette farewell concert. We were all there, my friends, foes, people I knew, fans, everyone. We enjoyed the concert big time, no sadness. But then, afterwards, someone had promised you would come out to say goodbye, the drama began. You didn’t come. We waited and waited and waited until suddenly the doors opened and someone from the crew, it wasn’t Bojo, looked around and said: “You can go home, she is already gone. There won’t be a goodbye.” Just like it happened in life.
Do I glorify you? Yes. Is that a healthy thing to do? Probably not entirely, no. Do I care? Hell, no. Why not? Because you saved my life or parts of it at least twice. And this won’t be forgotten.
I try to prepare myself for next year and the year after that and the year after THAT. May 30th will always be a special day for me. The past years I was busy organizing your flower delivery and then anxiously waiting for your reaction. This year: silence. Next year: more silence. And the more time passes, the easier it might be, but the clearer it will also become that you have entirely gone, passed, dissolved in eternity.