Dragging on...

I dislike anniversaries of things, except the anniversary of the federation of Australia, January 26, also known as Australia Day.

The trouble is, a week from today, it's the anniversary of Christopher's death and as much as I'd like to deny it, it's bugging me not a little.

It's been 6 years (less 7 days) since he died and I don't know whether to be ashamed or proud of the fact I still miss him terribly and that it still hurts.

Right now, I'm still overwhelmingly confident I will never get involved in anything resembling a close personal relationship again. Not that it doesn't seem worthwhile, it's just I haven't come to terms with so magnitudinous a loss yet. Some part of me is still totally distracted by what's no longer there.

Cody would leap on it with glee if I surmised my preoccupation with the Crew, as I've affectionately come to know the kids on the other side, is largely down to missing my little brother so much - considering he was only 19 when he died.

I do sometimes fantasize about a few of them as pseudo replacements for Christopher, but not in any serious way. They are their own people, all different from each other and all different from Christopher. I love them because of who they are, not because I miss my brother.

Looking after Christopher was something of a habit. The only time I wasn't doing something revolving around caring for him was when I was asleep. And I preferred sleeping when he was awake because it was next to impossible to sleep when he was asleep because the little bastard snored like a freight train. It made the windows rattle. When he slept, I was out working but I would call in regularly to make sure he was ok. I was lucky to have had such an understanding boss at the time.

When he died, I had no option but to break the habit. I didn't know what to do with myself. Not only had I lost the person I loved more than any other before or since, my daily routine was ruined.

I'd get up at 4am and go to work, Chris would still be asleep. I'd drop in around 9 to make sure he was ok and get him anything he needed. If he were awake and wanted to come with me, I'd get him dressed and take him back to work with me where he would sit outside and watch the passing traffic until about 1pm when I'd finish. Then I'd spend the rest of the day with him - usually fighting about some stupid thing or other - and we'd end up back at home where I'd crash by 10pm while he watched the television.

Towards the end, we moved the mattresses from his bed and mine into the loungeroom so if he needed anything, he could wake me up. He needed to sleep by the heater because the cold made him ache too much and even morphine wouldn't calm him down. There were days and nights he was in so much pain, all I could do was hold him.

There were times I had to carry him to the car and drive him to hospital, shouting at him to make him remember to breathe. And Christopher wasn't small. He was a stocky nugget of a kid. He lost 20 kilos in his last few months, and I don't know whether he gave up on himself or pitied me for what I was going through watching him waste away, unable even to take care of his basic needs. Before he got sick, he was a small mountain of a kid, strong as an ox. To need help showering and dressing himself was devastating for him. If we didn't share that bond of unequivocal love and trust, that would just have been nightmarish for both of us. He used to apologise if he needed me to help him get to the toilet if it interrupted what I was doing. Then I would hold him again, sometimes for hours, just to reaffirm the fact I still loved him.

There was nothing I didn't do for him and nothing I wouldn't have done for him. It's an attitude that became, as I said, a habit and one I was neither willing nor ready to break. What I got out of caring for him was fulfillment. It was me being more than just me, it was me being fundamental to his life as well. I don't even know how to describe how that made me feel except to lose that feeling suddenly left a massive hole, not only in my daily routine, but in me as a person. Half of me was gone. In many ways, a more noble part of me.

What I get from those kids on the other side is an opportunity to again do in a greatly reduced fashion the one thing that brought me unequalled joy, pride and pleasure, the best thing I can say I've ever done and that is to care about someone other than myself. Christopher could have opted to go into a hospice or hospital, but he hated the very thought of that and chose to stay with me instead. For better or worse, I wouldn't have had it any other way either. What has been the cost to me for doing what I did instead of putting him somewhere he could have had 24/7 professional care? I don't know. Did I gain as a person? Again, I don't know. Would I feel differently about so many things now had I not taken care of my little brother? Maybe. One emotion I don't feel though, is guilt. I did my very best every waking minute of my life and I was 100% devoted to Christopher.

In view of the fact there are times - like the upcoming anniversary of his death - when I feel that loss more keenly than normal, was taking care of Christopher the best thing I could have done for myself? Hindsight, being the interminable fink it is, I have to say the answer is 'no'. It probably wasn't the best thing I could have done for myself. But I can only guess at how I'd feel if I'd have done anything else. I have no alternative but to think I'd feel much worse, and yes, very very guiltridden.

And that's why I can't help wanting to do the things I do and why I can't help wanting and needing to be around for the kids on the other side. Not just the Crew, but all the other kids from the other side as well. That these kids allow me to do that is what continually brings me so much pride and joy.

Parents don't always get things right. They quite often get things very wrong, but as long as there is love, there can be forgiveness for past mistakes. If together a family can muddle its way through the upbringing of a child, the child will turn out just fine as long as there is love for and trust in one another.

I wanted to blog this here instead of there because to me, imposing this sort of emotional burden on a kid is nothing short of abuse. I've no doubt one or two of them will read this, but it's their choice. If I did this over there, it has the potential not to be. If any of them cared enough to read this and comment here, I would take that as a pretty good guage of whether they feel I'm a pain the arse or if, indeed, they place any value on what we've done together over the last 6 months.

For those who needed a reason why I'm there at all, this is it.

For those who need to know what I do there, well, I converse. We talk about music, books, poetry, people, politics, history, blogs and the internet. They send me their music and they listen to mine. We share ideas and we laugh together. Sometimes, I listen to them when they need someone to listen to them or even just to know that someone is there who will listen to them if they ever need to talk.

I blogged this here because although I trust them enough to treat this sensibly, the idea they might take my happiness on as some sort of personal responsibility doesn't sit well with me - and there is more than one who might very well feel that way. That's not what I want. I'm pretty happy just as I am. I don't need any sort of moral support right now. I just wanted to say this because it's important to me to properly identify what I'm feeling - both about this upcoming anniversary of Christopher's death - and my interaction with all of them and how or if the two are related and what that relationship might be.

Maybe not doing this sooner is what has contributed to my making contact with the kids on the other side at all. Again I don't know, although I do suspect that's probably very likely. I can't stress enough how important it is to properly and honestly identify our emotions and deal with them openly and honestly and if that means keeping a diary or blogging, then that's what it means.

When Christopher died, I had an emotional breakdown which was probably a major contributing factor to my last heart attack. Put simply, I stopped wanting to live. I knew that much and it didn't need any further identification than that. But now I do want to live and today, with so much angst being generated because of the date and the anniversary it represents, I'm moved to deal with these feelings I've been carrying for 6 long years. I'll probably blog something similar next week, but the next big bit of writing I will be doing will be on Thursday when I put out the next edition of The Swamp, which will be another Worst Business Practice Award - the 8th WBP since I started them in 2001.

Feel free to comment but be warned now, I won't be happy if any stupid platitudes appear hereunder and I may choose to either ignore or retaliate. It'll depend on the weather.