Grieving It has been exactly six months since Lee died and I have changed considerably since then - both emotionally and physically. I no longer feel as secure as I did, I don't laugh as easily as I once did, and I have lost 15 pounds that I really didn’t need to lose. I know people are worried about me because I am so thin and I have changed. Every once in awhile the "old" Linda comes back, but not as often as they would like to see. Lee and I were born together and lived together. We never thought about a time when we wouldn’t be together. I can’t even talk about Lee without getting tears in my eyes and I know everyone probably thinks I should get on with my life. As I have said many times before, unless you are a twin yourself, you just can’t even comprehend what it is like to lose your twin sibling. Once one is gone you are alone, half of what you were. I will probably be doing a lot of rambling on this page because it is very hard to put into words the many, many different things I miss about Lee. Certain sounds, foods, weather, movies, music – you name it – bring back a flood of memories or, if it was something new, feelings that "Lee would have liked that". I know I am fortunate to have memories, but it just isn’t the same. When Elton John recently said that he would give up all that he had just to have his friends back, I understood how he was feeling because I feel the same. I wish I could strike a bargain and have Lee back with me. In 1982, my brother-in-law Robert, who not only has Downs Syndrome but is a diabetic, came to live with us. Although Lee had a real aversion to needles, he learned how to give Robert his insulin shots so he could take care of him when my husband and I wanted to go away. I never had to worry about Robert when Lee was taking care of him. Now I no longer have that luxury because I don't think I could trust anyone else to give Robert his shots or take care of him if we go away, at least, not the way I trusted Lee. We had finished off rooms downstairs for both Lee and Robert. Several times a day I would hear Lee walking up the stairs. When he died I couldn’t bear the sound of Robert walking up the stairs; every time he did I would think Lee was coming up. Because of this we had to move Robert to one of the upstairs bedrooms. In the mornings Lee would carry his toiletries in a small bucket and come up to use the third floor bathroom. I would be sitting at my dressing table doing my hair and he would always smile and say hi to me. Now when I sit at my dressing table, in my mind I often hear the sound of his toiletries hitting the side of the bucket and will look up but Lee isn’t there to say good morning to me. I think I miss that more than anything. He always started my day off right, always with a smile. I always think about Lee when I am alone in the car driving home from work. I actually talk to him and I always ask the same question, "Why, why did this have to happen to you." Then, of course, the eyes start tearing up. I really miss him. Lee used to get out of work around the same time that I did and we would usually see each other on the road at least once a week. He drove a 280Z and his license plate said DRAGON – he was big on science fiction fantasy. Whenever I see a Z on the road I always try to catch up to it to see what is on the license plate. I know it isn’t him because his car is still sitting in the front of my house, but after all these months I still hope that the license will have DRAGON on it. They say that families need rituals, things in your daily lives that you can count on always happening. Lee and I had lots of those. Lee always helped me with the food shopping every other week and it was funny because the people used to always say how sweet my "husband" was. I would tell them that he wasn't my husband, but he was my twin brother. In December they finally asked me if Lee had moved away. I hated telling them that he died. Other things that I could always count on were the fact that we always drove to work together in the winter if the weather was bad; after dinner Lee would always say, "Linda, it was delicious as usual," and then he would always clear and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher; he always went to a store with me if I asked; and, of course, he always helped me with my computer. I miss doing all of these things with him and I can’t even touch on what the holidays were like without him. My telephone broke a few weeks ago so I brought Lee's phone up and plugged it in. I wasn't sure what was on the recording until I listened to it and heard his voice. I took the tape out of the machine, I just can't erase that tape yet I can't listen to it again either. One thing that is very hard for me is the fact that I wasn’t with him. I have tried to talk to people who were there but I feel like I am not getting all the facts. I really need to know everything he said and did the last 15 hours of his life. I learned that Lee started to not feel well 15 hours before he died and I feel that maybe he would be alive today had this happened at home, not on some island in the Caribbean. I know that what I really need to do is sit down with someone in person who was with him and find out all the facts. Of course, since Lee died in the Caribbean, the autopsy was not as complete as it would have been had he been in the states. No toxicology report was done and they listed all organs as healthy. I do wish that since they had to do an autopsy that they at least would have done a complete one and given more information. I guess the main point was made and that is that one little blood clot made its way to his heart and took him quickly and painlessly. When I go to the cemetery I like to "talk" to Lee. Of course, I always start crying. It’s really strange because Lee always felt that I was the strong one. I certainly didn’t cry very often. What he didn’t realize was I drew my strength from him. We were a whole the two of us, a great team. It’s sort of like being on a baseball team and eight of the players have left. Suddenly you are trying to play the game all by yourself and you just can’t do it alone. We were a family and I feel like our family is now broken. I miss the way he smiled and laughed, I miss how he always helped me when I needed it, I miss my life the way it was, but most of all I miss having my twin with me. |
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