Victim

When the small talk dies down, the room gets quiet, and the stimulation of being in nature wears off, I am hit with the reality of your death over and over and over and over. It's a reverse nightmare. When I wake – whether from sleep or distraction – I remember that the worst of any terror doesn't even begin to explain this truth. You are gone. My best friend, my lover, my soul mate, my philosopher, my buddy, my role model, my comedian, my teacher, my fiancé... is gone.

I've tried to stay busy over the past couple weeks. I've made a goal for myself to do one thing every day. I have committed to saying "yes" when good friends who are in-the-know ask me to do something. I can't make a decision for the life of me, but I can join the crowd. It's not easy, but I've managed to stay busy, stay healthy, and stay active in a yin way – long walks, hikes, and yoga. The amount of people who have reached out to me via social media, text, and phone has been overwhelming, and while I haven't had time to thank everyone individually, I am appreciative. Your parents, sisters and extended relatives, who are dealing with their own immeasurable amount of grief that I can't even begin to comprehend, have treated me with pure love and truly as family. I have also had the beautiful benefit of having wonderful friends and family arrive in Boulder with plans to take me somewhere, to nurture me, to do my dishes, laundry, pull me off the floor, and simply to be there as a shoulder to cry on. In the support realm, I have been blessed.

But no matter the amount of support, it doesn't purge the suffering. The grief process is unleashing itself in agonizing and unmapped ways.

In some moments – in nature, good music, during a heartfelt conversation, or when I'm writing to you – I feel somewhat strong. I feel like I might even thrive some day. There's always an underlying haze of sadness that doesn't let up – but mostly in those moments, I feel like you live on – in the nature, in the music, in the story, or in the words. But the times of strength are few and far between; I'm thwarted by their opposite.

A hiccup occurs, it's my reverse nightmare. I remember all over again what has happened. The trauma of the actual circumstance that night – your last words, the sudden shaking of your body, your eyes rolling back into your skull, your unresponsiveness when I tried to hold your hand, the panic of calling 911, the sixteen-minutes of trying to bring you back without success, the sirens, the flashing lights, your lack of pulse, the EMTs drilling holes in you and shocking your heart, Kira licking your face with concern, the ambulance, the emergency room, the guttural and unrecognizable sounds of my own wailing when they told me you were gone, shaking and kissing your lifeless body, laying on the gurney with 'you' for hours screaming and pleading for you to come back... the torture floods back like a ricochet of images from a flip book from hell.

I've refused to watch a horror movie since my teens. I avoided them because I get scared easily and didn't want to contend with the horrid circumstances they etched in my imagination. So instead, life decided to be a cunt and deliver one to me directly – front row seat, set in my own basement, participation required, and worst of all, a harrowing end. I can't get the scene out of my head – no matter how many good people are surrounding me, no matter how much I walk in nature, no matter how loud I turn up the music, and no matter how often I pour my words out to you through sobs or writing.

I like to think I've been doing a lot of work on myself, particularly for about the past four years. Yoga trainings, practice, reading philosophy, personal growth forums, surrounding myself with healthy and smart people, and then meeting you. You were the trophy for the woman I'd become. You made me a better person. The fact that a man with a soul, mind, and body as beautiful as yours fell in love with me was a testament to my dedication, or so I thought.

One thing I've really tried to master is not victimizing myself. It's a narcissistic behavior to think that happenstance occurs because of the self. But this situation has been really hard to navigate with a commanding, 'This has nothing to do with me,' attitude. Really fucking hard. Because this tragedy has ripped my life and future to bloody shreds, not to mention, the life and future of other people who love you too. But I feel like the Universe has played a cruel joke on me.

The woman I was when I was with you is struggling. She's confronting some big demons that she thought she'd left in the dust. The pure joy, love, and belief that she trusted has been derailed. Now, she's irritable and mournful. She doesn't live with pure faith. She's suspicious. She's melancholy and sarcastic about life's misgivings. She's not a woman I like to be around.

We come in and out of life alone. But along the way, we cross paths with extraordinary people. Ted, you were more than just extraordinary. You were a beacon of truth. You were a radiating example of the existence of true love. At the risk of sounding like a victim, I got teased by true love. It was dangled in front of me, I sucked on its sweetness, I tasted its lusciousness, and then, once addicted to it, to you, to your coddling love – it was ripped away. Now, I'm left alone – wanton, dry, barren, and lost.

No matter how much I coax myself to be strong, the truth of matter is that you are gone. I will not see your face ever again. I will never be able to kiss your lips. I will never hear your laugh. I will never hear you ask me, "Will you marry me?" I will never touch your soft skin. I will never be able to see you as a father. I will never be able to wake up with you. I will never hold your hand again. I will never again hear your words of wisdom. I will never be able to steal bites of food from your plate. I will never be able to impress you with a dirty joke. I will never be able to hold your hand during svasana again. And worst of all, I will never love the way I have loved with you. I was taunted with the pinnacle of love. The best love. I was given a gift that most people never get to experience. I was given a love that was glorious and absolute. And at the risk of being greedy, I want it back.