I found out an ex-connection of mine had died in 2022.
I’m not sure if there’s a type of grief or German word for when you find out a guy you were in an on/off again situationship died years ago and you’re only finding out about it now because you decided to try snooping on his instagram.
I never really "got" poetry. I've tried reading poems and though I knew the words I was reading were full of heart, soul, and vulnerabilities I had difficulties understanding it—literally and figuratively.
But I want to "get" it, I want to understand and feel what these artists are trying to express with these paintings and collages made from broken hearts and written words, and so I went to a poetry event last week.
It was an open mic event so folks got up and shared their own hearts and poems;
LadyK, a nationally ranked spoken-word artist, hosted the event and shared her own work as well.
She also created a poem on the spot at the end of the night using words and phrases everyone in attendance contributed to inspired by a prompt about what Black History Month—or our culture/heritage in general—meant to us.
It was an amazing poem and I love that it was this kind of temporary, ethereal piece of art that existed solely in that moment just for those in attendance.
As the night went on, I started to get the spirit to speak some poetry myself despite not having anything pre-written. I really considered free-balling it and began building a poem—a poem inspired by the death of this ex.
In the end, I decided to stay seated, wanting to be in the present moment hearing everyone else share.
But this poem kept percolating in my mind ever since. And though we weren't close and I hadn’t spoken to this person since 2020, I still wanted to say goodbye to him in some way.
Dear Dru,
a poem by Shirley Jackson
Dear Dru,
I went whale watching out in Monterey Bay.
It’s probably why I started thinking of you and got curious about what you’ve been up to.
Dear Dru,
I never got the urge to snoop on you since we parted ways in 2019. But for some reason, I felt pulled to find you on instagram to try and glimpse at how you’ve been doing and what you’ve been up to.
Dear Dru,
I couldn’t remember what your last name was, so I got the idea to check your address in the hopes that your last name was on a record of ownership somewhere on zillow or something.
But I see that you sold your home in 2022? I wonder what happened.
Dear Dru,
The house idea was a dead-end, but I searched my email and found one from you from when we were still seeing each other.
Dear Dru,
I found your instagram and I see you’ve posted more of your beautiful, nature-inspired photography.
I also see that you’re living on a boat and you’re so happy!
I remember you wanting to sail around the world.
I remember you talking to me about finally getting a spot in the coveted harbor.
I remember you sending me a website that sold boats you were interested in purchasing.
I’m happy to see that you made a home on the waters that you love.
Dear Dru,
I noticed your last post was from 2022.
Did you decide to step away from instagram and social media?
I know you weren’t the biggest fan of it, and I know a lot of people have gotten sick and tired of these platforms over time.
Dear Dru,
I decided to google your full name and found something:
“NOTICE OF PETITION TO ADMINISTER ESTATE OF DRU XX XXX, Decedent”
“TO ALL HEIRS, beneficiaries, creditors, contingent creditors, and persons who may otherwise be interested in the will or estate, or both, of DRU XX XXX.”
What does this mean?
Dear Dru,
I’m furiously googling your name and I find:
“…in honor and memory of her son Dru…”
Oh my god, did you die?
Dear Dru,
I’m scouring google for an article, obituary, funeral notice, anything about your death.
I can’t find anything. Perhaps it's for the best.
Dear Dru,
I’m looking at your instagram posts again but this time I’m looking at the comments.
I see that some of your friends have left loving messages to you as if you have passed.
Dear Dru,
I’m looking at your mother’s instagram and she has posted pictures of her art and of you.
She shares about how much she misses you each year. My heart breaks for her.
Dear Dru,
Oh my god, you’re dead.
Dear Dru,
I remember the very last time we spoke.
It was early 2020 and we were long separated by this point. COVID was becoming a thing and I wanted to reach out and make sure that you, and those in your care, were ok. You told me that you and everyone was fine and that it was basically like the flu. No big deal. You shared that you thought about reaching out to me to see if I was ok, and if I was still able to attend that art festival I was participating in or if it ended up getting cancelled.
Dear Dru,
It is really strange for me to think about how, after our last conversation with each other, you would be dead in two years.
Dear Dru,
I’m sorry I’m just finding out about this now.
Dear Dru,
I’m so sad that your life was somehow snuffed out too soon.
We are not that old; you still had so many decades left to live.
Dear Dru,
I want to imagine that it was painless.
I want to imagine that you weren’t scared or hurt when you died.
Dear Dru,
I hope your spirit is in the mountains and deserts that you loved exploring.
I hope your spirit is in every tree, every beast and every blade of grass that you captured with your photographic eye.
I hope your spirit is in the Whales and Waters of the Ocean freely moving to and fro all across our beautiful planet that you so deeply loved and cared for.
I hope your spirit is well,
-Shirley