I am so very fortunate. Pete's death has made me very aware of that. So many friends being wonderfully supportive, the use of a car so I can visit Kevin tomorrow, taking Rye to the park and keeping him entertained for a few hours so I could snooze - offering to come and help me out next week, hanging out washing for me. Listening to my ramblings, I'm probably repeating myself a lot but then its not about the words, its the connection. Everyone is rallying around in ways that they can and I am very grateful, so very grateful.
Peter was always rather shy, socially awkward, and rather blunt. He didn't suffer fools gladly and, being that he had a scathing wit, he was also rather formidable... that wit could also be hilariously funny - so-long not directed at you. The death of my father and later middle brother, began the gradual process of Peter becoming more and more isolated and withdrawing from society. Then when mum died he really began to cut himself off... not straight away and for a long time he did satisfy that social need, we all have, via the internet...until eventually he removed that connection too - but not before he had researched the method he would use to exit this world.
He used helium gas and a bag. He left a note, explaining why, asking us to understand and forgive him and not to be sad or guilty, he'd had enough, he didn't want our help, he just wanted to go. He offered comfort by explaining he would feel no pain and his passing would be peaceful. Not entirely sure I can forgive, not even sure if there is any point in forgiving, he's dead, what the hell does he care? And just as quickly as the spark of anger ignites, it flickers out again and I just feel numb and sad. He was so very rational, he knew exactly what he was doing... how do you get to that point? Impulse I can understand; Richard's sucide was an impulse - he probably didn't even mean for it to go so far that he died..but he did... but Peter. He deliberately set out to find a method that would be painless, he left a note for Kevin along with some paperwork (but not a will it seems), he turned off the gas, electric and water supplies and he secured the house, then he laid down and he did the deed.
I don't understand, how can you do that? That level of dispassionate-ness, it is beyond me.
and so I ramble, I umm and arrhhh, I stare into space; sometimes I cry briefly, over times silent tears fall, other times I'm able to block it out and concentrate on the normal daily routines; laugh at the children, read stories to Rye, have cuddles and kisses, play games.
And deep down I thank my gods that I made connections, I have connections, that I cannot understand how Peter could be done with life at 46 years of age and that, despite having similar recluse tendencies, I do have friends, a community around me, I do know I am loved and normally life is good.