2024

Since I now have American and Australian readers - I preface this blog post by saying it has been written in British English.

2024 - what a year, one of the most momentous of my life. Why I say “one of the most” – 1996 is up there. That’s the year my mum died; finally succumbing to breast cancer. She was diagnosed at 42 years old and battled it for 10 years. Knowing your mother has cancer all throughout one’s teenage years and losing her at the tender age of 21 is its whole other story. Life changing and in many respects cruelly so.  

2024 – highs and lows culminating in a year of resilience. As follows some of the moments that stand out.

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Let’s start with the most prominent event and the not so Elephant in the Room. I say “not so” because we were hit with it and didn’t shy away from talking about it. My boyfriend Zach’s death by suicide was devastating. People who hadn’t even met him: work colleagues, old school friends; were rattled by the loss. Thank-you to everyone in my orbit for staying close or simply giving a like or commenting on my facebook posts – the fact you’re reading this now. I’ve seen you there and appreciate it.

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I became a first time home owner. Ironically – because people say home ownership is preferable to renting – I can’t say I’m especially glad I did. Now that I’m in it, I’m meeting the myriad expenses and issues that come with responsible home ownership. Unfortunately the discretionary $$ I used to spend on travel, dining, and clothes now goes on house fixes and furnishings. Within nine months of ownership I've paid thousands to fix foundational issues, dry rot, the electrical and sewer system, and several other things the seller happily left me to deal with. Added to this and arguably the most irritating of all – I don’t have a set place to park my car. Street parking only. That’s a tough proposition anywhere in LA. The dust, foliage and bird droppings that collect on my car out on the street is the gift that keeps on giving! The bright side is no other drivers have yet to clip me in the tight parking situation. Things could be worse.

Having said this I know I’m lucky to be in a position where I was able to buy. I’ve made it a home and hosted a few good gatherings!

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A clear winner this year was developing my local friendships in LA. After Zach died I threw myself into the church community for solace and healing which paved the way to a friendship with the Church Priest. Originally from Wales, Father Ian Elliot Davies has presided over St Thomas the Apostle Hollywood for 22 years now and has qualities that remind me of Zach. Super sharp (Cambridge University alum), very well read - always having a book to hand me, kind and witty. Father Ian has helped me a lot. My Dad used to quip, “Zach knows a lot of things about a lot of things.” So does Father Ian.

Then there’s my friend and (now former) neighbour Harrington. The one who came with me when I suspected Zach had done what he did. Harrington and I braced ourselves for the news waiting outside Zach’s apartment as the two policemen went in. After which Harrington showed up every day at my apartment door to lend his support. Harrington’s popularity brings a whole coterie of friends and acquaintances which means I’ve had a social year! The universe really does open up when you need it to. 

Of course there are many other people who've been there for me in 2024. Including Zach's friends, my work colleagues, American and Australian friends, and my family. Most of you will be reading this now. 

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Amid all the calamity of losing one’s beloved, I turned 50 this year. Can’t stop that clock! It was time to throw a party. As my old university pal Linda said, “you hosted your own wedding.” She was right. I decided to host a 50th birthday celebration in Melbourne with all the fanfare of the wedding I am yet to have. It was great. My Dad, brother, and friend Renato - who had his own wedding in Bologna, Italy in September, which I attended - gave speeches. Friends from as far back as 30 years came – a handful travelling from interstate, including my cousins Penelope and Katy with their partners, and my niece, Madison, and nephew, Tom. Of course there were people invited who couldn’t make it. They’ll have to wait for the wedding…or (probably more likely) another milestone birthday, God willing.

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Despite the ravages grief can do to one’s health - mine seemed pretty much on track this year. I kept on top of breast cancer detection appointments and otherwise felt like I was in good shape. That is until I visited the dentist last week. My dental hygienist said it was time for a yearly blood pressure test – and lo and behold – I received a high blood pressure reading (140/70 (normal is 120/80)). This is the first time I recall this happening – previously I was led to believe I had low blood pressure. Side note – did you know that high blood pressure is referred to as hypertension and nearly 50% of adult Americans have it but don’t realise they have it because there’s no real noticeable side effects? That’s why they call hypertension the “silent killer” because it's linked to heart disease which is the leading cause of death in America. 

The news jolted me back to my blood work result two years ago. The Doctor reported, “your cholesterol level is slightly elevated.” Sadly, I didn’t do much about it then (I’m prone to applying lashings of butter on my morning toast and eat a lot of carbs.) But heart disease runs on my father’s side. My 82 year old father had a triple heart bypass at 49 and now wears a pacemaker. His own father died from a heart attack at 69. Alas, now it’s time to add heart health as a new year's resolution!

So here we go. The jolt I needed to make some long overdue lifestyle changes. Fingers crossed I’ll be able to fit back into the nice clothes I bought pre-Covid! 

Moving into 2025, I hope I can take a better stock of what I eat and how much soda and alcohol I drink and stick to it. Having said that, entering 2025 will no doubt be more of the same for me – I’ll continue to prioritize my work, keep up the home maintenance, focus on relationships, and carry on grieving Zach’s death. Now a laser sharp focus on health. Oh the joys of ageing. 

Here’s to another year! Happy New Year. 

Photos. Words that resonated today, as seen in the shop Fig in Ojai, California, during a weekend visit: December 29, 2024.

He's gone, so how do I get through this slump?

As I spooned the remainder of my Thai meal into the to-go boxes, I was reminded of the ritual Zach and I underwent after our regular dinners at the LA Times' restaurant critic Jonathan Gold lauded Indian restaurant, Mayura, in Culver City.

We'd inevitably over order and while greedily eating hearty proportions from copious dishes, there was usually leftovers. The waiter would bring the takeout boxes and Zach and I would proceed to fill them as I had done at the Thai restaurant. And yet at the Thai restaurant I was performing the custom alone - without Zach - because there is no more Zach. He self-eradicated himself from this earthly existence. 

In my memory he looms large. He's the last person I think of before lights out and the first on my mind as I wake. Zach and my mother. My mother has always been a daily thought, however the regularity of thinking about her throughout the day, has been ever amplified now that Zach is dead. Because of course, she is dead too. And now these two great loves of mine are together in the ether, out of reach, and yet still very much top of mind.

As the days, weeks and months since Zach's passing move along, I begin to feel there was never going to be another way. And yet terrible guilt persists that I could have done more. Guilt around a loved one's suicide is a common theme, in fact I would say, guilt is a non-negotiable by product for those left behind.

Zach expressed his overwhelm concerning his life situation. In the final weeks he would say and text, "doom, doom, doom" and lament about times gone by, happier times that he was convinced could not be repeated due to his filial responsibilities. Alternatively, some days he would enter my room and declare (paraphrasing), "Today I see light at the end of the tunnel, I don't see it all as doom. There might just be a chance I'll get through this."

His negativity befuddled me. Sure I saw real factors for his woes (most readers know he lost his dad to Parkinson's complications in 2022 and thereafter filled the shoes as primary care taker for his mother, also with Parkinson's, and dementia), but I mostly put the extremity of his distress down to the final months of having a mis-medicated mental illness. He had definitive life stressors, but during this particularly troubling period, he saw mountains in issues and problems where I saw molehills.

On one hand he fessed up to having suicidal thoughts, something I only really learned in February (he died in March) and on the other hand he said, "I've come to realize, suicide is not an option," which gave me hope that we would both be spared that grisly outcome. 

However, towards the end, he was spiraling so fast into paranoias that were devastating and profound, it had us all spinning. He'd dug himself deep in a ditch. I shared in his fear that he might not be able to turn his life around especially as he was reluctant to take drastic intervention towards recovery. 

We know the final outcome. I've lost my lover and best friend. So how do I get through this slump?

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To quote W. H. Auden, an author Zach admired and had on his bookshelf, and people of my generation will be familiar with these words as the poem Funeral Blues was read in the '90s film, Four Weddings and a Funeral:

He was my North, my South, my East and West, 
My working week and my Sunday rest, 
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; 
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. 

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; 
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; 
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; 
For nothing now can ever come to any good. 

A milestone approaches but now it comes to nothing

 

Zach would have turned 35 on Thursday (13 June). As a couple we had quite a bit staked on this year – 35 signalled D-Day for his marriage proposal. Not necessarily the actual day, but the two of us had agreed a few years earlier that by 35 he would have lived enough life, enjoyed enough bachelorhood, to make that commitment to me. I wanted to be married. Heck, I’d finally found a man I could spend a lifetime with -- the appeal of wedded bliss. No more searching for a compatible partner, I’d found him, and with Zachary I could rest. 

Two weeks before Zach died he made the observation while sitting on my couch that “we’re strangers in the face of the law.” Unfortunately despite six years of mutual devotion, he did nothing to rectify this situation (I have a will and he was listed as my primary beneficiary) and thus I’ve been denied the privileges that come with holding that legal certificate. 

Michael, a close friend in LA, tells me the riches come not from material possession, but from having known him. Zach led from the heart. We spent almost every moment together on weekends. The quality time we had. The love. I’m grateful for Michael’s wisdom and sense. I carry the truth of it close and draw on its strength in moments of emotional torture. Any person who’s experienced grief will tell you it’s complicated. The days, weeks and months in the aftermath of Zach’s suicide have been no less than gruelling.

I rage at the fact he’s no longer here. We melded so well together - he was my ultimate 'yes' person. I wanted to go to Dear John’s for their gin martini - yes, to have Italian for dinner - yes, watch this old movie - yes, travel to this place - yes. Yes, yes, yes. And not in a doormat kind of way -- in a way that he genuinely wanted to do those things with me. We took pleasure in our being together. Now I think of things to do, but I’ve lost my favourite person to do them with. Instead I still venture out - but alone. A glass of wine at the local bar after work / alone, a Hollywood Bowl concert / alone, to church on Sundays / alone – each time his absence is acutely felt. 

His memory looms large, his person is still adored. I miss him terribly. He was my great love. That he no longer exists is a pain that sticks on my skin 24/7. Most mornings I wake up like I’ve been hit by a bus, to meet another day with the stark realness of his loss. I rail against it - wish it weren’t so, and chastise him aloud for doing it. But it is how it is. Lady Macbeth, “what’s done cannot be undone.”

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Happy birthday to you my darling. We had so much riding on this one. 

Photo: a typical weekend - stopping by Gjusta for a bite before heading across to work out at Gold's Gym in Venice, California.