Note: This post was initially published on March 8, 2018.
This is the most difficult post I have had to write to this day. I’ll spare you most of the details. Some things can’t be fully communicated, can’t be communed with or put in common. So I’ll pare it down.
My partner Agnieszka’s 19-year-old son, Mathias, committed suicide in the night of February 17 to February 18, 2018. We’ve been hollowed out, devastated, stopped in our tracks, shattered, sent on a roller-coaster of sobbing and shaking and wailing, then of staring blankly into hour after empty hour. We’ve been “active” – going to the coroner’s to identify Mathias’ body, organizing and living through his funeral, attending commemorations, making and answering flurries of phone calls and e-mails, cancelling his insurance policies and his gym membership, gathering his letters and artwork and musical compositions, and whatnot. We’ve been “busy” even as our inner time has stopped and as the world outside has arrogantly, callously kept on turning.