From Here to the Great Unknown

by Lisa Marie Presley

It’ll hit me still, on and off it comes. There have been nights as an adult when I would just get drunk and listen to his music and sit there and cry. The grief still comes. It’s still just there.

I believe that we’re all born innocent, and that everyone’s nature is innately good, but they get fucked by their surroundings. And I believe that my brain is different, that I am an addict. Otherwise I wouldn’t have had all those years in between being a stupid teenager to suddenly getting a drug habit at forty.

I already knew, clear as day, in those moments banging on her door, that any time I got with her after what was about to happen would be a gift. A bonus.

This was a huge lesson for me—the only way out is through. You must allow pain in to free yourself from it.

But somehow, the loss of my brother reframed all of those moments for me. Ben made me realize that every little thing matters, every little mundane moment, every flash of joy. All the pain.

The loss of my brother made me understand how two things, maybe more than two things, can be true at the same time. This has been one of the most profound experiences I’ve had. Learning to hold joy and suffering and indifference and hope simultaneously.

Grief is always there.

Like there’s nothing I want to accomplish anymore. No goal, no anything. Zero. I have three remaining children, so I fight it, I fight it, I fight it, I fight it, I fight it. But it’s fucking there, alive and well. It’s a lion’s roar and I have to shut it down, shut it up. I’m surprised I’m still alive.

I was thinking my main objective would be to help other people somehow. Or to shed light on something. Make a difference somewhere, somehow. I think people have gone through some of the same things I have, and maybe they’ll say, “That really helped me.” That would be fulfilling.