Eric Benner

Another chapter, of what I hope is a very long book, is closing.  Another 365 page opportunity starts tomorrow and this chapter, 2017, will be filled with change.  Trips, graduations, moves, etc., equals big changes, with twists and turns, and likely all the excitement one would want over the course of a novel or the journey of this lifetime.  I hope to experience each day with positivity and adventure.  I want to work hard, accomplish new goals, conquer old fears and inspire the change I want to see.  Lofty ambitions, but an open slate.  I am taking a step back tonight, just to begin the year how I hope to be, with a slower pace, a quieter time and a more relaxed tone. 

For our children, who are no longer really children, yet not quite full adults, I wish them a healthy, happy, exciting, fun, love-filled year.  I wish them all that I can put into words and all that I cannot.  I hope you continue to watch over them, be their guardian angel and guide them from above, while all of us that love them deeply try and support them here on earth.

RIP, EHB.  Happy New Year.

5 years....are you kidding me?  How can that be?  Honestly, it feels like a lifetime ago, and yet....and yet. 

Today is a different "annniversary" of sorts and I don't really know why.  Time?  Life?  Mind f*&$?  Maybe, it is simply that you are an existential part of our lives and that our "new normal" is now just our "normal".  At times, you feel like a fleeting memory, which feels like I have dishonored you somehow.  At other times, you feel so ever-present, that I feel it's unfair.  Two feelings, seemingly so opposite, co-existing in the same space...we have certainly learned that dichotomy is part of our lives now. 

I do not know what I can write that I haven't already written.  I do not have any new insight or words of wisdom.  I know that today is a day where everything comes a distant second to the three most amazing accomplishments of our lives, and that is our beautiful, amazing, damaged, hurt, angry, sad, happy, bad-ass, incredible children.  They are the best of us, with some of our flaws, but better in many ways than we ever were, at their respective ages.  I told them this morning that this is the 5th anniversary or calendar-reminder of the absolute worst day of our lives and that I pray they never experience anything that comes close to this experience again in their lifetime.  I say this because I want them to know that they have not only survived this atrocity, but thrived, despite it. 

You are always with them, in their hearts...their minds...their spirit;  I  pray that the best of you always stays there, alongside them, and that the demons you battled were taken with you.  I love your ghost  AND  I love them more.  You did, too, which is why I can type this without hesitation.  There is no greater love than the love of a parent for their child; thank you for teaching me that and giving me the gift of them.  As we head into our 6th Christmas without you, I pray (as I always do) that you are watching them with pride and awe because they surely deserve it. 

I wish you peace and love and heavenly wings, our angel above.  RIP EHB 12/06/2011

Heading into the time of Thanksgiving seems to bring out more emotional fragility than heading into the anniversary of your death in December.  THIS is something I could have never predicted, but a trend that has held true since our first year without you here.  Maybe it is because Thanksgiving really became "your" holiday, with the stuffing and the brineing and the everything...heck, I just did the struesseled sweet potatoes.  Maybe it's because it was the last holiday you were here.  Maybe it's because that last vacation, you were so clearly not "you" that our hearts were already broken and we just didn't fully realize.  Or maybe it is a thousand other things.  What is clear is that November, or more accurately, the time before Thanksgiving, seems to surprisingly knock us on our ass.  So far, it is hit Kait and wallopped Madi.  I don't really know about Drew....at 17, he is just not that into being my boy right now, and that is ok...it's his job to emotionally detach, as much as I hate it.  Me...I have my moments, my memories, my sadness, my anger, my regrets, my everything....it's called grief and it is a part of me foreever more, just like it is a part of every single person whom you touched or loved. 

There is a part of me than cannot believe or comprehend that this will be our sixth Christmas without you.  There is also a part of me that can barely remember the last one where you were present.  It's hard to remember certain nuances that made me laugh or drove me crazy and there are certain things that literally smack me in the face with a memory so clear and vivid, it feels like dejavu.  This journey has been a roller coaster and I really believe it is one I will never get off AND I am ok with that because I never want to forget the path that we took together....the good, the bad, the ugly, the horrific, because I loved you from the time I was as young as our oldest child is today and I will love you until the day I die. 

I wish it had been different AND I am also happy and healthy and thriving and in love. 
Two counter intuitive things, that seem complete opposites, coexisting in the same space. 
I will forever be grateful for OUR son teaching me that this was not only possible, bue perfectly acceptable.

RIP EHB. 

I don't know why it surprises me, but heading into my sixth year in our work-world without you present, you are sometimes still the legacy that prevails.  On one hand, that is pretty fricking cool.  On another, sometimes it's hard to be compared to your ghost.  Not that anyone actually could compare us, or what we do on a daily basis, however while you were never really submerged into my old "marketing" world, I am fully immersed into your old world.  While I do not do what you did, nor could I even come close, I do have my own specialties, my ever-increased knowledge base, my very expanded job responsibilities that go far beyond what I initially wanted, and maybe imagined, back when you were the "Benner", the "expert", the one who most considered "perfect".  Anyway, while I am immensely proud of the legacy you leave behind, sometimes living in your shadow is tough. 

That said, I need you to know, that I am really f'ing proud of where I am and what I have accomplished. and I want to thank you, and others for some of my growth.  I am honored for all you taught me along the way....even when I preteneded to ignore you, I apparently picked up a LOT.  I am thankful for Regan, the love she showed, the knowledge she imparted, and the push she gave me to bust out of my shell.   I am filled with gratitude for my BM Fr-Amily....Joe, Kerry, Jeff, Megs, Miguel, Rana and Bill.  Bill has empowered me to grow in ways I honestly could not imagaine.  Not because of a lack of ability, but because of your shadow.  He is my mentor, my friend, my boss, my conscience.  In him, I often see you, and I am so thankful for the relationship I have with him.  It is honest, fair, blunt, funny and makes me so much better in my professional life. 

I know this is kind of a weird letter, but after being at Westcon all day and remembering all your stories and feeling somehow inadequate because it used to be your world....I decided that it was time to stand next to your ghost, proud of all you accomplished, and kickass for all I am accomplishing now.  I don't have to compete with you...I never really could in the past, so why would I try now?  I just need to be me, continue to be humble, while gracious, and seek out as much knowledge as I can to best represent us BOTH.

RIP EHB

Wen

It's been a long time since I have cried so hard that I couldn't breathe.  It's been a long time since  I've felt the pressure on my chest and the physical pain of remembering.  A long time, but in an instant, my body was racked with sobs and the panic of those feelings felt all too familiar.

All that, on the eve of our World's Suicide Prevention Day, from watching a movie, based on a book, that I have already read and know inside and out.  And yet, seeing it acted out in front of me inexplicably had me to the point of hyperventilating.  Listening to words that you could have written, that I swear you have uttered to me almost word for word, obliterated that vault in my heart that I long ago tucked away.  It's not a place I really want to visit again, but damn it if it didn't immediately remind me of all the questions, all the confusion, all the frustration and all the pain. 

I actually typed out the words because they haunt me still..."No more pain and exhaustion and waking up every morning wishing it was over.  It's not going to get better.  The doctors know it and I know it."  I can literally replace the "it" in the first sentence with "the day" and the rest would apply.  I argued with your feelings, with your logic when pressed, and then, when I would start to question what you meant by statements such as these, you would assure me that is was the sadness, the diesase, the frustration talking.  That you had no idea how to be different in it, but you had no choice but to keep fighting, to finding a solution, for me, for the kids, for yourself. 

These discussions are an ever present ghost of emotion; feelings that I tried to understand, chose not to believe, and take me back to the betrayal of losing you all over again.  I look back now and wonder (or more acurately, question) what you were trying to convey to me back then.  Were you warning me of what was to come?  Did you know you were deceiving me, so I would not do anything to intervene?  Were you really committed to finding that evasive "sollution" and something snapped?  Did any part of you believe you would get better?  Do you regret it? (wow, that one is beyond irrational, right?)  I can go on and on with these insane questions, because I was left without answers, when you left our lives permanently.  Realistically, we were both left without answers, just in different ways.

Anyway, it's been a long time since I have come here to write out of the simple grief of a woman who lost the man that she loved who suffered with a disease she despised.  This isn't for the kids, for your family or friends.  It's truly (and selfishly) just for me.  It's been a long time since I remembered you this way and while it is still heartbreakingly painful, there is a part of me that is grateful for the part of you that can still touch my heart.  It's been a long time, an entirely different lifetime, since you were here and, yet, for all you were, you will never be fully gone.

Through the pain, the tears, the heartbreaking illness, the brokenness and loss, there will always be love.  It truly is the most powerful emotion, even when it feels so very far away. 

RIP EHB  Always, No Matter What.