Been a week now since a very beloved cousin passed away - probably by taking her own life. She was - by far - my closest connection in the family. I looked forward to growing old alongside her. She was going to be my support if / when I decide to leave my wife. But she is now gone.
M. was my cousin - only ten months older - and we, I believe, came to be very close. For a quiet, reserved, not so confident person like me, M. was outgoing and vivacious and absolutely full of life. She had her downs, and depression and drama were constant companions, but she was my hero in so many ways.
And, of course, despite our closeness, there is still an inside and an outside. The dramas that I saw and sometimes was part of were in a continuum that stretched over decades. And that would have been tough on her husband who supported her throughout and her daughters. She, never once, spoke ill of her husband and so I can only assume that he is what he appears to be - a good guy, attentive, who tried his best. Of course he will live with regret with what he might have done differently on this one occasion and she might be alive. And that goes for all of us.
My counsellor always asked me about 'feelings' and this past week I have been trying to look outside in while going through my emotions. Her leaving has surely left a hole in my heart. She was my confidant and someone I could speak to about anything. Through the nineties - as young adults - we met very often and exchanged real, proper letters. Long before I learnt to be open and share with my friends, M. was my outlet.
Through married life, things became a little tougher as my wife really did not like M. - similar to how she made life difficult with other female relations and friends. One tiny example. One pancake day - mid-nineties - I had invited my friends home, saying that I had found the biggest lemon ever; I had misread and it was in fact a grapefruit!! On hearing this story M. bought me a set of coasters with pictures of lemons on them. Of course, like cards thrown away or a cup with 'Friends' written on it given to me by a dear (woman) friend disposed of, these were put in the bin. Except that I had given a couple of them to my friends as a memento of the story, and one of my friends still has is some thirty years later - he has his, I do not have mine. That is a microcosm of how she felt about my cousin.
Definitely, I had to maintain a distance for fear of having to manage issues at home post-marriage but M, and I remained close. When issues reached peak discord, my wife wrote to M. to tell her how terrible a person I was, presumably trying to break the bond between us. I asked M. to reply as if she were responding to a friend and not as my supporter - and to ask any questions that she might have of me. And she did, and I never confronted my wife about going behind my back.
And, for sure, M. had her weaknesses. She was self-referential and even selfish sometimes. More seriously, she simply could not leave her past behind and appreciate the present that she had helped to build. But read comments and tributes and speak to people and she built this huge community of friends and supported so many people who adore and love her.
Her mental trauma and depression were not 'weaknesses' but an illness. And that, in the end, destroyed her. It will always be a matter of regret that I didn't contact her more, that I did not realise the gravity of the situation better - we were exchanging messages even the day before she died. On the Wednesday, she had stopped on a bridge in Boston and thought about jumping, but been stopped and taken to hospital. If I had just happened to call on the weekend - where was my famous instinct? Bollocks.
At the same time that I write about the rawness of her leaving, I appreciate the pretentiousness of it - from not helping her enough. And I worry about my son's exam results - so how much do I really care? And would things be different if the externality of my wife did not exist. These are unknowables.
In the end, she is no longer here. Love you M., always.
