Morning Tuv,

I’ve been thinking hard about where I am in this process of grieving and in the shower, where, as you know, I do some of my best thinking, I realized that when I sat down with Sandie on Monday and she asked me  how I was doing I responded.” I’m okay, this sucks.”  She came right back at me with, “Yes, Bonnie, you are depressed. You have a huge hole to fill with Tuvia’s passing and you can’t fill it yet.”

Yes,  depressed!  Funny, that’s what I am.   Grieving? Mourning?   Those words are unfamiliar to me to depression, that I can relate to and I’ve been fighting that state of sadness. I’m not used to waking up in tears. I’m the one with a the cup half full, actually my cup is usually 99% full, maybe 100% most days.

I’m sure  you were very attracted to sunny disposition,  because I know you were haunted by ghosts, many ghosts from your past.  I could tell, as I watched you slept, often tortured by nightmares.  But together, we lived in a mostly glorious present and future.

And  I’m depressed that my future will be forged without you.  I’m trying not to weigh down my friends and family.  They know I’m not myself.  I’m sad, but I try to offer equal opportunities for them to share their lives with me as they should.  I don’t want it to be all about me- grieving Bonnie.

Yesterday, October 21,  makes it two months without you, your unofficial passing as you read the newspaper and drank your last cup of weak coffee.  Ami and I sat stunned as you went into cardiac arrest,  helpless, watching you leave us.  I’m going to say, with my total lack of medical understanding that you took charge of your destiny and allowed this to happen, rather than agree to go back into the hospital.  You allowed the forces of nature to take you away rather than spend another minute descending any further into a life without dignity.  I understand that.  We watched my mom descend into that state of helplessness for the last year of her life and as much as we  tired to keep her with us, she just wasn’t herself. You had such a hard time remembering my mom at her best.  Not me, I said my goodbyes way before her official departure.

But you, you were my soul and even though I understood that your passing was a gift to you and ultimately to us, I am suffering.  Let me put the right word to it- I am living in a state of depression.

I’m sure my happiness made me very attractive to you because I know you were haunted by ghosts, many ghosts from your past.  I could tell, as I watched you sleep often tortured in nightmares.  But together, in the light of day we lived in a mostly glorious present and a hopeful future. It was amazing to me, that you could be so positive.

I’m depressed that my future will be forged without you.  I’m trying not to weigh down my friends and family.  They know I’m not myself.  I’m sad, but I try to offer equal opportunities for them to share their lives with me as they should.  I don’t want it to be all about me- grieving Bonnie.

And yes, I am sad all the time but yesterday to celebrate our life together I was not under the covers but out in the sunshine, running errands, meeting Sharon for shopping, for lunch and a short walk in the park that we loved, then racing back to meet Christine at the Palisades mall to catch an early performance of Jobs ( yes, I did take a nap in the middle)  and dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.  Both of us  found something very healthy to eat on the Super Foods menu.

It was another okay-good day and it sucked that I couldn’t share it with you in real time.  That’s my life for now, my love.  I’m so grateful to have you in my heart and my head and my friends who share in my loss and help me to move on.

Depression, that’s the word I’ve been looking for- depression!  Thanks Sandy.

Miss you, Tuvia Rosenberg.

Bonnie S.