Let it Be.

It's cold tonight.

It's been cold for a few nights now.

And I wonder how seasons have gone - spring, summer and fall - and now we are back to the chill of when you died.

How has time gone so fast, yet felt like an eternity, and it is once again that damp cold that chills your bones?

Tonight I was driving home from hockey when "Let it Be" came on.

"And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree..."

I think we can all agree that time is fleeting.

That no matter what we do it ticks along, it flies, and it takes us with it.

"There will be an answer, let it be..."

An answer.

I don't think there will ever be an answer to the infinite questions I keep asking, over and over.

Why?

How?

Why you?

Why us?

Why this?

"For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see..."

Do you see?

Do you see how everything is moving along, the progress, the back steps, the things that have happened since you were taken?

Do you see me here now, alone, just trying to keep going like I know you would want me to?

Do you see the things I wonder about, the answers I don't have, the life we had planned snuffed out and the world somehow carrying on in its twisted way?

Do you see I am trying?

"There will be an answer, let it be..."

I wish there was an answer.

I wish my dreams weren't as upside down as they are, some where you are alive but we cannot see each other, others where things are as they were and the darkness has not set in.

"And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me..."

I keep trying to find that light.

I keep hoping there is something at the end of this tunnel - okay, "end" is not the right word since there will never be an end to this, despite the end to you here - but I keep trying to push toward something, anything.

It's just so damn hard without you here.

By now we would have been settling into our new house, yet here I am, settling into my house, without you.

And that just feels so damn wrong.

Stan is here.

I know we had said no more dogs but in some way I believe you sent him because you had always told me you knew how beagles healed my hurting heart.

I know you sent him and I thank you.

And I know you send the butterflies - the white butterflies that flutter outside the patio every morning when I have my coffee, every time Sheena and I are at the camper lighting a fire, every time I go to my car to go to work.

I know you send them.

Thank you.

"I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me..."

And I dreamed about my nan last night. Mother Mary. She and I were "fishing" on the hills like we did with my pop's bamboo poles (the "ponds" were craters of rocks that had settled after glaciers, and she told me the history of that). We fished and we talked and we walked.

And in the end I went back to my home on the hill and she left me, heart filled, with her usual quip of, "Nan's girl."

I hadn't dreamed of nan Street for so long.

I feel like my dreams are all over the place these days but nearly all have you in them. We are doing mundane things, living our mundane life together and I remember how good that mundane life felt.

I miss it so.

And yet something always happens in those dreams and you go away, I can't see you, but you always reassure me:

"Whisper words of wisdom, let it be..."

I'm trying, Brad.

I'm trying to let it all be now.

I'm trying to push forward into work and life and everything that now has to be done without you.

I am trying to push through the hurt, the immensurable amount of hurt from your loss and also what has come tied to that - the realization that there are no lengths others will not go to project hurt and to try and beat you down to make themselves feel good and righteous.

And, if that is what it takes to make them feel good in their silo, who am I to judge?

Who am I to expose that?

That has never been me.

I will always write from the heart and should that evoke negative emotions based on the actions of others that is not my burden to carry, nor am I responsible for the bridges I did not burn.

I hope, some day, in his own time, he looks for me and he knows how much he meant to me because he was your world too.

But, for now, here I am.

Christmas is coming.

You hated Christmas and we spoke these past couple of years about how maybe you should try to find joy in it for him. He is getting older and these are the memories he will have.

So we tried - wrapping the artwork as presents, you bringing that damn elf home, us just trying to make Christmas a little more enjoyable.

I hope it was.

I looked forward to our first Christmas in our new home - mom and dad spending it with us in town for the first time, our tree decorated in the window in that yellow house.

I won't be putting up a tree this year - I just can't.

And the thought of my first Christmas without you makes my chest so tight I wonder if a breath will fit.

But it will just be another thing I have to push through without you.

No Christmas parties and planning our outfits a month before, no new dresses, shirts and shoes. 

No Christmas.

"Let it be,
Let it be,
Let it be,
Let it be..."

I am trying to let it be but I hate what it has become.

And this life is not one I want nor the one I need.

But it is the one I have now and I guess that is that, really.

An outlier.

I miss our little family.

I miss Christmas shopping for everyone.

I miss...you.

But right now I have to take things day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, breath by breath.

And even none of that feels like the pathway through this.

I just. Don't. Know.

But, for now, I guess I have to listen to the lesson:

"Let it be..."

So I will.

But no part of me knows how to be without you.

And that might be the biggest lesson of this year at all.

32 weeks without you now.

32 weeks when I hadn't thought I could live beyond one.

Back then I wondered what it would look like now.

And it looks like this - pain, grief, tears, a brave face to get through work, hours on the ice, walks along the streets with Stan and tears in his fur as he learns about you.

That is what 32 weeks look like.

They look a hell of a lot like the others prior.

And my heart holds a weight that it cannot.

I guess the only thing I can do is keep moving forward.

"Shining on until tomorrow..."

Tomorrow will be here before I know it.

32 weeks and one day then.

And I just have no choice.

"Let it be..."

Vincent

"Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils.
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land..."

It was April.

We had met in a January, my eyes meeting his and wondering who this kind, gentle person was talking arena fries and how it was so good to meet me.

A Twitter message solidified it and this person who I was asking my friend Raylene about, who was just well spoken and adorable in both parts, was her former coworker.

I had never expected to see him again.

"I think you're my cyber crush."

And in my head I was thinking, "And I thought you were previously anonymous but here we are."

And so we talked, we met, we hit milestones, we made our family on music and love and everything that came before us.

And we made us.

It is kind of funny - 

After that encounter we talked for months because I was so guarded. He talked me through my first tattoo in Edmonton, talked me out of buying three pairs of leggings at Underarmour, talked me through a panic attack when I was stuck on the plane and was my comfort when I landed.

Always my comfort when I landed.

I had never landed at the airport again without meeting him at the bottom of the stairs with his hugs and kisses.

Until I did not.

"Barb, there is something wrong. Brad isn't here."

Whether that was landing from a bad day, landing from a manic episode, landing from a day or two or three in the doldrums, he was always there and he was always my comfort.

When I say he was always there when I landed since the first day we had met I do not simply mean at an airport.

Brad was always there when I landed.

There are a few things:

I have been on antidepressants for anxiety since I was 15. Do they help? I don't know. They don't take away the dream or the elephant on my chest but I wonder how it would be without them. Maybe it is time for a tweak.

He was there when I landed on amytriptaline after my accident and my right hand is a messy, ugly, demolished excuse that tries to hold a pen.

He was there when I was so tired I questioned myself and who, what I was. He was there. He made sure I did not close my eyes thinking that way.

And now he is gone.

Tomorrow I complete my sleeve.

And I look at how cold it has became and wonder how the seasons dare change without him. How did he miss all of that sun and summer? The windows of the house should have been open with music blaring, not me trying to find a house with windows to blare it from.

I have stared at this blank area for months now, thinking nothing felt worthy of occupying it and being the finality.

Finality.

That is not even a word my vocabulary recognizes but it one I must accept.

A couple of years ago I played Don LcClean's "Vincent" so much that when Brian Fallon released a powerful song of the same name Brad exclaimed, "THIS IS NOT THE SAME JESUS SONG, IS IT?!?"

It was not.

But at the same time I laughed at his knowing how Vincent spoke to me.

So, with this empty piece on my elbow, my sleeve already his memorial with his compass going his direction, his clock when he died, the replica candle from his sleeve, the anchor for him and for my dad - it needed one more meaningful piece.

Don McClean found it.

"A silver thorn on bloody rose..."

He laughed when I played it over and over and swore to him it was the poet in me who simply loved the words. And he would play it fifteen times in a row had I asked.

These little memories cut the soul.

They hurt.

"How you suffered for your sanity..."

I'm always suffering for my sanity but hey, Brad, I'm hanging on. It's all I have.

And I just picture us listening to this now, on our couch, Colton asleep, and us singing along.

And I promise you one thing,

"I could have told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you."

It wasn't, though.

Goodnight, love.

Starry, starry night.

Beautiful Trauma

"We were on fire,
I slashed your tires.
It's like we burn so bright, we burn out."

I remember when we had first met.

Well, I remember the before times.

"Hi, I think you're my cyber crush," you had said in a Twitter DM.

My response?

"Thanks, buddy!"

"I made you chase me,
I wasn't that friendly.
My love, my drug, we're fucked up..."

And I did.

I made you chase me.

I had been on my own for so long at that point, my heart torn and wounded and in no place to trust. You persisted. You messaged me every day, eventually me giving in and giving you my number and you texted me every morning, every afternoon, every night.

"'Cause I've been on the run so long, they can't find me,
You're waking up to remember I'm pretty,
And when the chemicals leave my body,
Yeah, they're gonna find me in a hotel lobby 'cause, tough..."

I had heard that word before: tough. There is a blog about it somewhere here in the archives. Tough. I had gotten sick of being called tough; just as sick as I am of hearing the word "resilient" these days. I had been told I was tough - how blows rained off me and I kept carrying on.

"Times they keep comin',
All night laughin' and fuckin'.
Some days like I'm barely breathing,
After we were high and the love dope died, it was you..."

We always think we know what love is. We think we have felt it, known it, in all of the messed up, broken up moments in time we thought were healthy relationships, all of the days we spent trying to convince ourselves that it was what we were supposed to do and maybe, just maybe, we had to suck it up.

But no matter what came before, after we had met that day, face-to-face, in the arena in Paradise, you and your shy smile not even telling me your name; me getting home to see a Twitter DM that said, "I guess I could have probably introduced myself."

"The pill I keep taking,
The nightmare I wake in,
There's nothing, no nothing, nothing but you..."

And there hasn't been anything but you since.

I dragged you out for months after that. I went to Edmonton. We talked every day. You kept messaging me on the day of my first tattoo asking if I was alright, telling me I would be hooked and I would not be able to stop looking at it because that is how you had felt. 

You showed up at the airport at 4 am to pick me up.

Oh, and on the tattoo, you were right.

You always knew how I would feel because we had always, somehow, felt the same way in different stages of our lives even though we did not know the other existed.

"My perfect rock bottom,
My beautiful trauma,
My love, my love, my drug,
Oh.
My love, my love, my drug, we're fucked up."

How did this all become so fucked up?

We both laid it out, didn't we? We made sure there were no secrets. We let it pour out of us both the night we took that drive to Bay Bulls in your car and you said I scared you and I told you that you scared me too. Neither of us thought we had wanted it until it was laid at our feet.

"You punched a hole in the wall and I framed it,
I wish I could feel things like you..."

You were always the one who laid your feelings out, me a locked down safe draped in concrete that you chipped away at and taught me it was okay to talk and let it out. Talk we did. There was nothing we could not talk about and I learned what was a healthy relationship, open lines of communication, and always going to bed in each other's arms.

Now:

"Everyone's chasing that holy feeling,
And if we don't stay lit, we'll blow out.
Blow out."

Holy.

I have never been religious, nor were you. But we both had family factions that were and we were respectful.

Now I see and feel things from holy people that make me question their foundations, how they can be so cruel while also pledging their allegiance to a book that says to love one another despite what may come.

Lying and weaponizing.

Just like that morning when the priest said, "God be with you," and me, shrouded in grief, locked eyes with him and simply said, "Fuck your god."

But I will keep us lit. I will not let them extinguish.

"'Cause we've been on the run so long, they can't find us.
Who's gonna have to die to remind us?
That it feels like we chose this blindly,
Now I'm gonna fuck up a hotel lobby..."

You.

You did not have to die to remind me but your death has reminded some who do not seem to be taking it well that you were my anchor. You were my life support. You were my life and I was yours, not to take a piece away from anyone else but to compliment.

Our life together was so beautiful.

But some need to write their own narratives, I guess.

Erasure for their own smeared picture, thinking everyone else is blind when they all see the hatred and the hurt caused.

"'Cause these tough times they keep coming,
Last night I might have messed it up again.
Some days like I'm barely breathing,
But after we were high and the love dope died, it was you..."

Always you.

And sometimes I mess up.

Sometimes I am told what I do or say is right or wrong. Navigating this complete rupture of the world is a near-impossible task and I do not have the toolkit.

My counselor told me this week she feels I am an anomaly - I do what she would normally tell others not to do, what she told me not to do until now - to not use energy reserves that do not exist in an attempt to forge ahead.

But she said she has realized I only function on doing; I cannot sit still and I must channel my emotions - hurt and anger - into trying to do some good.

But other times I simply carry my grief while screaming it wherever I go.

And that has made some uncomfortable.

"The pill I keep taking,
The nightmare I wake in.
There's nothing, no nothing, nothing but you..."

My house feels like a pharmacy now.

Take one in the morning, one in the afternoon and three in the evening.

Anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, pain management and sleep.

You.

My beautiful trauma.

And if I had to go back and do it all again, knowing how we physically ended, I would take all of the pain again for the love we had.

How someone can try to erase that, I will never know.

I loved you from the first time I met you, I loved you more when I had finally given in and I love you still. Nothing on this mortal coil will ever change that.

"My love,
My love, my drug,
Oh..."

"My name is Rosemary..."

"I heard you say you don't feel right,
Somethin' must've changed inside.
She said, I still love the bands and the boy down the street,
But everybody else gives me the creeps..."

I don't feel right.

I haven't felt right in a long time.

I tried to have a normal week with Stef but nothing was normal. Everything was pushingpushingpushing and just trying to smile and laugh through the hurt. And even Edmonton isn't the same anymore; even going to Montana for the first time and spending days shopping and laughing until the store staff were confused and just hugging and grabbing obnoxious shoes to buy weren't the same.

A Wednesday spa day to wash it all away.

And a message that had me in tears at 8 am and Stef so angry I had to beg her not to blow.

A narrative being spun.

"And there's a hole in you now,
Like the windshield was taken out.
And everybody's hurt, and mine ain't the worst,
But it's mine and I'm feelin' it now..."

No grief is bigger or smaller than another.

Every path is different.

And writing has always been therapeutic to me.

Mr. Broderick told me in grade 8 to never stop writing because he knew it was my outlet.

I have always felt if I do not let something out it becomes poison and it courses through my veins.

And if I choose to share that publicly, to share the ugliness and the hurt and the deception, then maybe it helps someone else who is caught under this shroud of pain and who has not found their words yet.

I know some of you have messaged me and I hear you.

If my words help then that is more than I can ask for.

"Sometimes I think it's haunted inside this house..."

I came home to a shattered glass on my counter.

The one thing in this house that meant the most to me.

And I broke.

The tears won't stop and I feel so much loss over and over again.

Thank you to Jeff who replaced it with another when he heard but it will never be the same.

Nothing will ever be the same.

"And I hear ya cryin' over the phone,
'Where have all the good times gone?'
Downing the glass of shouting matches,
Lost in the songs they don't write anymore..."

So I sit here.

And I turn on the music that has gotten me through since I was a child and my dad told me there is a song for everything. He was right. My dad raised me on music, movies and hockey. There is, indeed, a song for everything.

I was told not to write.

Not to share.

That it was wrong.

But I will not stop writing and I will not stop sharing.

I will not stop speaking truth.

If that truth hurts you then you maybe need to look inside and adjust the reasons why it hurts.

"It's all right, I ain't tryin' to bring you down tonight,
'Oh my, my, my, she says, I don't mind,
I'm just so tired of the empty sheets I sleep beside...'"

And I do not try to bring anybody down; I try to let it out. I try to release the hurt and the pressure, hit the valve that will put it out there in the hopes that someone else feels their pressure released too.

Because there are far too many of us.

"Heard you say it's gone all wrong,
Since when did the days and the nights get so long?
She said, I still miss the scene and the dying breed, but now I'd settle for some company..."

Company.

Barely anyone checks in anymore.

The girls still chat and I still talk to one of his friends and his wife who are such beautiful people who get it, but it is a damn lonely existence.

Company.

Sometimes it would be nice to know someone cares enough to come by.

"And there were things that I did, just so I could feel anything,
But somewhere along,
Something went off,
And I woke up with blood on my lips..."

Maybe there were times when I have said or written things many feel I should not have because they are private but they poured from my fingers.

"And yeah, and there were nights I just did whatever I liked..."

Trauma.

Hurt.

Trauma responses are weird and sometimes you wake up and wonder why you said or did a certain thing.

It is hard to understand that until you have experienced it.

But there are zero regrets.

It's called boundaries, building walls and deciding who deserves my energy rather than who can walk in, zap it for their own gain and walk away.

I refuse to be hurt anymore.

Will I ever be the same?

God no.

Nor would I expect to be.

And if you are hurt by my words about your own words or actions that is a you problem, not a me problem.

Find a lie.

If your words or actions evoke negative commentary that hurts you - maybe ask why that is.

I am now realizing my worth and that I do not have to take anyone bringing me down.

And nobody has the right to silence my voice or truth.

Sometimes the truth hurts.

"My name is Rosemary,
You'd be lucky to meet me..."

And I'll rely on my army. Always. It's bigger than some think.

"Someday they're gonna love me back to life..."

19th Nervous Breakdown

"You're the kind of person you meet at certain dismal, dull affairs,
Center of a crowd, talking much too loud, running up and down the stairs.
Well, it seems to me that you have seen too much in too few years,
And though you've tried you just can't hide your eyes are edged with tears..."

I'm so tired.

Today I was at work, thinking constantly of those on the southwest coast who have dealt with so much devastation over the past few days, my heart breaking as we try to pursue all avenues and try to help.

Help.

That is all I have ever wanted to do.

I look at my own situation and decide that if nothing else I can put my energy into helping.

There are those who have helped me.

"You better stop, look around.
Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes,
Here comes your nineteenth nervous breakdown..."

And on top of it all the house renovations are behind after having to go to a second painter after dishing out money after money to the first without results.

Two weeks have turned to three weeks.

I have not slept in my bed since April.

I have not been able to wash my clothes since July 31st.

I have not had a microwave since July 31st.

And every day there are excuses and more reasons.

I am tired.

Then Stanley got out.

Someone came to buy the mattress set I was selling to try and make some money because I am drowningdrowningdrowning and after being told by my contractor, because I could not be home and was at work, that they needed to watch the dog they watched him slip by their legs and said nothing.

When they were leaving and he asked if anyone had seen the dog they said, non-chalantley, "Yeah he went outside earlier."

Panic.

Crying and driving home while I called Sheena who has saved my life so many times and somehow keeps her head about her as I lose it over and over and over.

Then a text telling me I should have been at home watching my dog.

Yes I should have been.

I should be a lot of things and I should do a lot of things but I am barely keeping my head above water and trying all I can with everything I can.

Another reminder that I am not enough.

"Oh, who's to blame, that girl's just insane,
Well nothing I do don't seem to work,
It only seems to make matters worse, oh please..."

I am really trying.

I am just not used to life being this way or being treated this way.

These past few weeks have been an inhumane practice of how humans can treat other humans.

I was never raised to treat people in that way so I have had no concept of how it is or how it feels.

I am just so, so tired.

And when the thought of Stan being lost or hurt enters my mind panic ensues and I feel like something bad is going to happen to him no matter how hard I try.

I should have been at home watching my dog.

And I feel inadequate.

Brad never made me feel that way.

For once in my life someone made me feel like enough.

And I feel like I am back to being a scrap of a human constantly clawing at every day, every thing to make it to the next day.

I cannot find a break and at this point I am not sure I deserve one.

"You were always spoiled with a thousand toys but still you cried all night..."

I have not been spoiled or privileged but I know I have not had it hard.

And so many more do now.

I just want to help.

As my own heart sinks further and further into its acceptance of whatever this life now is.

I just wish he was here.

I know these feelings would not exist if he was here.

And every day is another exercise in crawlingcrawlingcrawling and climbingclimbingclimbing as one step ahead equals two steps back.

I hate it here.

"Here it comes,
Here it comes..."

And I have no choice but to accept it.

"It's just your nineteenth nervous breakdown..."

I Coulda Been a Contender

His sister gets married tomorrow.

I remember the day we were on the back porch in the sun when he took the call and came back to say, "Jenine is engaged!"

We talked about our own wedding.

On our second night together he looked at me and said, "Will I have to get another wedding ring? I had a deadly wedding ring."

And ever since we were so excited to have him suited up in the wedding party and to celebrate her finding her love.

He was supposed to walk her down the aisle.

We talked about how he would be in the wedding party so I would watch Colton.

We were both so happy and we couldn't wait.

Now he won't be there.

And I won't be there.

No longer invited.

To say my heart broke over and over again is an understatement.

I cannot put into words what this feels like.

I have never felt so hurt in my whole life.

And let me tell you - 

I have experienced hurt.

I have experienced the worst that has left me down on my knees wondering why this was the hand I was dealt.

But not with Brad.

Brad made me feel loved.

Like I was enough.

That what I was was not an anomaly and it was okay.

He loved me for everything I was;

The broken, disregarded pieces of what I was.

He loved it all.

And I felt that.

I felt more confident than I ever had and for once I felt like I could be me, everyone else be damned.

"I ain't pageant material,

The only Crown is in my glass,

They won't be handin' me a sash..."

I'm so tired.

I'm sick of trying to keep peace and be the punching bag,

"And that's okay, cause there's no way,

You'll ever see me in a swimsuit on a stage..."

I just can't be quiet any more.

"I ain't exactly Ms. Congenial..."

I have never spoken up.

I could not.

I was not raised that way and respect was something that was always drilled into me no matter the situation.

Be the bigger person.

"Sometimes I talk before I think, I try to fake it but I can't,

I'd rather lose for what I am than win for what I ain't..."

But I'm done not being me and holding back.

I am not responsible for rebuilding the bridges I did not break.

I hope it is beautiful.

My heart is in a million pieces.

And I do not have the tools to even begin to stick handle this much hurt.

I am just here.

And tomorrow nothing changes for me but so many move on.

And it damn well hurts.

"It's heads or tails and heart attacks and broken dreams tonight..."

Dreams.

I keep having these dreams now.

One day I have a dream where Brad calls me and he is still alive, just horribly injured after the accident so he will not see anyone and just wants everyone to think he did not survive.

The second we are getting married on a Wednesday and I am going around preparing, getting things together, but telling everyone I am not sure he will go ahead with it because he is so injured after the accident and does not want to be seen.

I wake up thinking it is all okay and just a misunderstanding and I can call him now and at least we will talk even if I cannot see him.

I miss his voice.

There is an ad that plays on VOCM in the mornings when I am listening to Open Line that says the first thing you forget about someone is their voice.

It plays a voicemail over and over and over.

It is sponsored by MADD.

How fitting.

I listen to his voicemail over and over and over.

"This is Brad. I can't come to the phone right now."

And for a second I almost leave him a message like I used to, telling his to get his ass home because supper is waiting and I am waiting and I just want to kiss his face off.

And he would usually call the second he got it and say, "Hi there."

Hi.

"What are you doing?"

Missing you.

And I guess nothing has changed because in your absence I am missing you.

It is Wednesday.

You should be on a soccer executive board call if soccer is over.

Is it over now?

I don't even know.

If it isn't you would be driving back home with Colton and I would be asking you to pick a Hello Fresh meal and have it waiting when you got home.

I got a renewal request from Hello Fresh yesterday.

They can't understand why I canceled.

Because you died.

And I don't need to eat much anymore beyond something meagre to keep me alive.

My new appliances are sitting in the living room.

I know we would still be looking for people to help move them but we would be doing it together.

Trying to install the microwave together.

Picking out colours together.

Your sister is getting married this week.

You were going to walk her down the aisle because your dad can't but now you can't and I can't imagine how that feels.

I could not wait to see all of your friends and to have so much fun with you.

But now you won't be there and I won't be there because I'm no longer invited.

I think I have cried more this week than I have in a while.

They warn you about the secondary losses.

And I am just tired.

I sleep - medicated sleep - last night for 10 hours - but I am never rested.

How can I be rested when you were my restful place?

You were the place where I could be comfortable and know there was never anything you wanted me to change or anything you were not proud of.

I keep trying to make you proud but that is getting harder as my will gets lower.

I feel so tired and defeated.

I know grief comes in waves and this is likely just one more tsunami without a name that I must, as my dad would tell me he did with every boat in a storm, turn my back to it and jog it out, but sometimes it feels so overwhelming.

I miss you and I just don't know what to do about that.

So I will go now.

I will go, turn on the TV, cuddle with Stanley and tell him about you.

And I just wait for the quiet.

Where I can remember your voice and miss it and that smile you would give me every night as you said, "Nite nite."

"But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness,

Like a heartbeat, drives you mad.

In the stillness of remembering what you had.

And what you lost."