At Mottsu’s funeral the same things were whispered and shared by those of us there:
Why? (I didn’t know anything was wrong)
Why didn’t he tell me? (I could have done something)
If only I’d known. (I could have done something)
What happened? (I don’t know)
Why?
The missing Melbourne business man has been found murdered. A sad story.
The family of the man are reported as looking drained, dazed and devastated.
I am chastened and reminded that not every loved and missing man is a suicide. Whatever the circumstances, each is a tragic loss for their families.
E arisposeno tutti: E vvero, e vvero.
And all the people said it’s true it’s trueGiuseppe Gioachino Belli 1832
It is unbearable when someone is missing, not knowing where they are and imagining them cold, or hungry, disorientated or unable to come home.
Mottsu drove away on a Monday morning. I expected him home by lunch although he hadn’t stated an ETA. Lunch passed, the day slid into late afternoon. I rang his psychologist, the appointment he had left the house for. There had been no appointment.
From there everything unravelled. I contacted friends, reported him missing to the police, at night I sat up looking out the window case he drove by.
I rang his work. Debated with myself about when, if ever to share my concerns with his family, or my family. I wept and I answered the phone. Calls came in as concern spread, and there was no news of his whereabouts, it is difficult to find someone who doesn’t want to be found.
Friends wondered whether I was over-reacting, I’m grateful that the police treated my concerns seriously.
Wednesday, day 3, and C. Robin did a mercy dash from interstate. I had told him not to hurry and I was glad he hurried. He insisted I get out of the house and accompany him on a walk around the block.
I left a post-it note on the front door, so Mottsu would know I would be right back. Something told me it was futile, and I also could not bear him coming home, with me not there to embrace him.
I staggered around the block, one unsteady step at a time, almost needing the support of a walking frame. I had C. Robin’s support and the world at large was unfamiliar and swirling. I felt so lost. The police rang to check bank account details, to let me know they were doing all they could, and there was no news.
The newspaper he worked for considered printing a paragraph describing the car and saying that concerns were held for him. That’s when I contacted family, the distressing news would come from me, not another source.
The paper held off. Confident he would return? Not wanting to have created a fuss that Mottsu might have to live down when he returned. I only wanted him found. Fuss could be dealt with. It was unbearable to have Mottsu missing.
Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. C.S. Lewis
When police came to the door late on the evening of day 4, I was relieved. Mottsu’s body had been found and recovered from the river. There were no suspicious circumstances, police-speak for suicide. He was no longer missing, he was gone.
“Biography is not destiny” says Tony Robbins, “…the past is not the future.”
Thanks Tony, only it seems that way sometimes. Makes me think how easy it is to be defined by the past, particularly by traumatic events which shatter our beliefs about our worlds. Regaining a foothold after a trauma takes time, for a while there is only the past, a future is barely apparent as you work to integrate what happened into your biography. That’s how it was for me.
A lecture on working with trauma given by Dr. Shar Edmunds and Alan Richardson in 2008, illuminated my experience. They said:
Trauma begins with an event or series of events that is too much to bear. The experience is beyond the “edge” of what is possible to perceive and respond to. It shatters our most fundamental beliefs about the world. It’s beyond what we can include in our identity – as an individual or as a community.
The presenters explained the biology and the psychology of reactions to trauma, and the scar tissue created. They talked about the trauma ‘receiver’, how and why that person has a monopoly on feelings and sensitivity.
Listening, I glimpsed something of poor misunderstood, woebegone, powerless, me. Poor me, who wants to thank her dear forbearing friends, the ones who stayed around while I was so bruised and wounded. The ones that allowed me to grasp onto all of the feelings and hurt as if no-one else had ever suffered a loss like mine.
Gratitude.