Time slithers on like a poisonous snake. It creates new shapes, memories, and opportunities, but allows dust to settle over its path. Time is an entity we as humans cannot reverse nor fast forward – no matter how deep our vengeance. I choose to believe that our understanding of time is mostly veiled in the unknown – dimensions, lairs, and sheathes wrap around and layer him in clouded mystery. What makes up not even an inhale to time in turn has destroyed my best laid plans. What is a blip to him, is a life to me – a life lost.
It has been said that 'time heals all pain'. Maybe so. But what kind of time are we talking about? Decades? Centuries? Eons? Aren't we still experiencing the pain of the extinction of species? Aren't we still in a deep rut of hate that has been present for hundreds of years resulting from religious fear tactics, manifesting as tyranny and terrorism? Aren't we only beginning to understand the pain of the effect our ignorance and lack of care has had on the environment? I realize these grievous circumstances are immense chasms much bigger than my story – the death of one very important man – but to me, it's the biggest story. It's my life. My future. My broken heart. So time, you bastard, what are we talking about here? I don't feel like I'm healing. I feel bruised, raw, and like a scab that is ripped off repeatedly, leaving no time for recovery – only festering infection and eventual scarring.
Though, as if forced by the neck, I slither on with time. At some points I'm kicking and screaming along the way. At other times, my head is down and I walk aimlessly like a prisoner ankle-bound in shackles. Sometimes, I feel my feet beneath me again, my heart beating – reminding me of my own life – and my monkey-mind quivering in anticipation for something to create. Often, I do create – because it's my nature. Lately, I feel a need-for-speed. Struggling with my usual momentum, I'm wading in a puddle of mud. Searching for inspiration is a challenge when my feet are stuck in the quicksand of tarnished dreams. To be completely honest, I thought my next career move was to be a mother. Now, I'm still absentmindedly blinking at the abyss that sits where my swelling expectations had been comfortably nesting. I'm trying to carve out new beginnings and rousing continuations from tragically aborted dreams.
One unique way I've been dealing with my grief is to participate in life the way I imagine you would. I find myself hovering near the soundboard of a funk show, analyzing the layers of music, the production quality, and the passion of the musicians. I am in conversation with you the way we would be had we been there together, except now it's a silent one. I go to the shows that you would have wanted to be at – as if I'm somehow allowing you to live on through my experiences. I lock into my skis and take a run that I know you loved, daring myself to take on the mountain and the trees like you would. I try to tackle life with your gusto, especially when my own hope is waning. Also, I see your soul absorbed in the lives of those you loved. I remember you telling me about your best wishes for certain friends; and now as I see those desires materializing, through wary faith I allow myself to believe you're the gentle director of destiny.
I've developed a sort-of tunnel vision as I move through our house. Some days it's as though I'm sitting in a tear-stained tomb of shattered dreams. Other days, I am in a vault of treasured memories. I still feel trepidation about moving any of your belongings out of sight. It's still too soon. Too soon to box up what's left of you, label it 'the past', and put it in storage. Much too soon. I still find something every day that I know you were the last to touch. I still sip sparingly from a water bottle you filled up over five months ago, feeling comforted by knowing some of that liquid touched your mouth, your tongue, your teeth – physical parts of you I can no longer be touched by. We all move through the house in a bit of a haze. Beats has a new perch on the banister, near the front door. She stares out the window and often turns her head to me and meows quizzically. Although, she sleeps with me now. When I awake with mysterious scratches, she's made it very clear that I'm not her first choice. Kira sleeps sadly and at great length; she sighs mournfully and often. Kevin does the same thing.
One thing I've learned through this loss is that we never really 'have' anything. We often spend our lives acquiring. We gather and hoard as if we need to prove our status by the amount of stuff we have, the amount of friends we have, the amount of money we have, the amount of knowledge we have. We can lose everything so quickly – stuff, money, people, even our own will to survive. Who do we become we are stripped of what we thought we had? Perhaps true freedom is the understanding that we are able to let go of anything and keep going. With nothing but a heart that continues to beat in this vessel we have been offered, we can continue moving forward – with time in front of us, at our backs, and holding our hands through the march.
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Too Sad To Write
I have been too sad to write for the past three days. Grief can be like paralysis.
Three days ago we celebrated New Years. I didn't want to celebrate. I didn't open my blinds to see 2015 until this morning. I wanted to remain cocooned in darkness. I didn't want to see what a new year looked like without you. I have stepped outside one time so far this year. I don't want to feel the breath of the new year on my skin. I have hardly responded to my phone messages. I've ignored my email. I haven't opened my computer. I don't want to see what the technology is offering. I don't want to hear the "Happy New Years". I don't want to see who got engaged. I don't want to hear the pop of champagne bottles or the clink of glasses. I've stayed as horizontal as possible until friends coerced me up to eat or Kira asked to go outside. But even she didn't want to see the sun.
Everyone who knows you is sad. I know that. I don't want to compare my grief to others. But watching others smile, celebrate, and honor you through stickers, signs, stories, and memorabilia isn't enough for me. I tried to do it. It worked for a few hours. But the highs are low and the lows aren't describable by language. That's why I haven't been writing. I can't put words to my sadness. There's no way to explain the sorrow when I wake up and you're not there. There's no way to explain how it feels to remember you're gone minute-after-minute. There's no way to explain what life looks like with the knowledge that I can't be with you. Every time I close my eyes I'm taken back to that night. When I sleep, what used to be dreams are now robbed by chilling nightmares. When I feel close to you for a moment – maybe by hearing a song you loved, being near someone who reminds me of you, or seeing a sign from above – the comfort is fleeting. What lingers is a gut-wrenching reminder of how absent you are and guilt for my temporary solace.
I've spent the last week or so surrounded by friends of yours who have been in your life for years, many more years then I was. I have heard story after story that I wasn't around for. I have met people that you never got to introduce me to. I've had heart-to-hearts with friends that I wasn't able to deeply connect with until now, until tragedy hit. And they're all sad. They all miss you. They all love you. But I watch their lives continue and it makes me feel angry. It's anger that I know isn't warranted. But I want to dive under my covers, ignore any semblance of forward motion, and never come out – and definitely not watch others move forward with their new year and their happy lives.
I'm envious of all the people who shared decades with you. I didn't even get two years with you. And yet I had dreams about you since I was a child. And since we started our life together, since we fell in love, I needed to wake up with you each morning. I depended on your kiss to fuel the start of my day. I got to admire you as you did little nothings like brush your teeth, shave, or make tea. I took great care in sudsing you up in the shower, cleaning every bit of you with love and organic soap. I exercised more patience than I knew I had when I'd towel you dry. I moved slowly when I'd kiss your chest and watch your eyes light up with desire. I got to combine my pleasure with your pleasure and witness the creation of true love.
But now I wake up alone. I washed the sheets yesterday because they smelled of tears, sweat, loneliness, and nightmares. And last night I barely slept. I was cold in our bed. I felt so foreign on those clean sheets, the ones that I'd surprised you with one day because they were made out of bamboo and I knew you'd love them. When I did sleep, I dreamt that our house was being robbed while I lay in bed unaware. I woke up in fear and I realized it's a dream I've had a few times now – everything I thought was mine disappearing, everything I thought I could trust being ripped out from under me – a thinly veiled reality.
Kira sleeps on the bed next to me now. She can tell she's needed. She tries to let the weight of her body and the rise and fall of her breath comfort me, but it hardly helps. It just makes me feel even more sad for her loss. Because she misses you too. She wanders around the house and stares out into the distance with the sad eyes of an old dog who's left watching her mom cry all day when just months ago we were all so happy together.
On New Year's Eve I went all-access to your favorite show. I wore stickers with your initials all over me. I stuck smiley faces all over myself and everything I touched, something you were known for doing. I held a sign in the air that read "Team Welles". I brought a bit of your ashes with me to the show in a Ziploc bag and dozens of your friends poured tubes of glitter in with them. I told those who knew you, "If you'd like to take some of him, you can. We can all toss him up in the air at midnight." We called it 'Teddy Confetti'.
I thought people would think I was nuts. But they didn't. With gratitude and love, hand after hand after hand (including band members and their wives!) scooped up your glittery remains and not only offered you to the air, but put you on their faces like warpaint and pressed you to their lips like a kiss. There was more Ted on people's faces than I ever would have been OK with had you been alive! It was an honor to know that the man I love so much, the man I miss and crave so desperately will never be forgotten. And it was truly beautiful to witness how much people wanted a part of you to be a part of them. During the encore, the lights lit up with your name and the band sang the refrain, "Sometimes it seems like such a hard life, but there's good times around the bend. The rollercoaster's got to roll to the bottom if you want to climb to the top again". For about five-minutes, I felt joyful. But when the band left the stage and the house lights came on displaying the wreckage of dirty confetti and popped balloons, my sadness sank in deeper and the guilt-clock chimed.
For every step forward, it's a few steps back. I feel I'm still lingering somewhere around the start-point. Time slithers forward even though I regress. What is time anyway? What is something you can't see, you can't feel, you can't taste? Is it even real? And yet we celebrate the damned thing anyway. So, New Years – the end of a year that housed so much love, so much beauty, and both the happiest and the saddest days of my life. Around me, I watched people curse the old and await the new, while I curse the now and the new, and hide under my sheets hoping to go back three months – back to happiness, back to love, and back to when I wanted to see the light that each day brings.
Three days ago we celebrated New Years. I didn't want to celebrate. I didn't open my blinds to see 2015 until this morning. I wanted to remain cocooned in darkness. I didn't want to see what a new year looked like without you. I have stepped outside one time so far this year. I don't want to feel the breath of the new year on my skin. I have hardly responded to my phone messages. I've ignored my email. I haven't opened my computer. I don't want to see what the technology is offering. I don't want to hear the "Happy New Years". I don't want to see who got engaged. I don't want to hear the pop of champagne bottles or the clink of glasses. I've stayed as horizontal as possible until friends coerced me up to eat or Kira asked to go outside. But even she didn't want to see the sun.
Everyone who knows you is sad. I know that. I don't want to compare my grief to others. But watching others smile, celebrate, and honor you through stickers, signs, stories, and memorabilia isn't enough for me. I tried to do it. It worked for a few hours. But the highs are low and the lows aren't describable by language. That's why I haven't been writing. I can't put words to my sadness. There's no way to explain the sorrow when I wake up and you're not there. There's no way to explain how it feels to remember you're gone minute-after-minute. There's no way to explain what life looks like with the knowledge that I can't be with you. Every time I close my eyes I'm taken back to that night. When I sleep, what used to be dreams are now robbed by chilling nightmares. When I feel close to you for a moment – maybe by hearing a song you loved, being near someone who reminds me of you, or seeing a sign from above – the comfort is fleeting. What lingers is a gut-wrenching reminder of how absent you are and guilt for my temporary solace.
I've spent the last week or so surrounded by friends of yours who have been in your life for years, many more years then I was. I have heard story after story that I wasn't around for. I have met people that you never got to introduce me to. I've had heart-to-hearts with friends that I wasn't able to deeply connect with until now, until tragedy hit. And they're all sad. They all miss you. They all love you. But I watch their lives continue and it makes me feel angry. It's anger that I know isn't warranted. But I want to dive under my covers, ignore any semblance of forward motion, and never come out – and definitely not watch others move forward with their new year and their happy lives.
I'm envious of all the people who shared decades with you. I didn't even get two years with you. And yet I had dreams about you since I was a child. And since we started our life together, since we fell in love, I needed to wake up with you each morning. I depended on your kiss to fuel the start of my day. I got to admire you as you did little nothings like brush your teeth, shave, or make tea. I took great care in sudsing you up in the shower, cleaning every bit of you with love and organic soap. I exercised more patience than I knew I had when I'd towel you dry. I moved slowly when I'd kiss your chest and watch your eyes light up with desire. I got to combine my pleasure with your pleasure and witness the creation of true love.
But now I wake up alone. I washed the sheets yesterday because they smelled of tears, sweat, loneliness, and nightmares. And last night I barely slept. I was cold in our bed. I felt so foreign on those clean sheets, the ones that I'd surprised you with one day because they were made out of bamboo and I knew you'd love them. When I did sleep, I dreamt that our house was being robbed while I lay in bed unaware. I woke up in fear and I realized it's a dream I've had a few times now – everything I thought was mine disappearing, everything I thought I could trust being ripped out from under me – a thinly veiled reality.
Kira sleeps on the bed next to me now. She can tell she's needed. She tries to let the weight of her body and the rise and fall of her breath comfort me, but it hardly helps. It just makes me feel even more sad for her loss. Because she misses you too. She wanders around the house and stares out into the distance with the sad eyes of an old dog who's left watching her mom cry all day when just months ago we were all so happy together.
On New Year's Eve I went all-access to your favorite show. I wore stickers with your initials all over me. I stuck smiley faces all over myself and everything I touched, something you were known for doing. I held a sign in the air that read "Team Welles". I brought a bit of your ashes with me to the show in a Ziploc bag and dozens of your friends poured tubes of glitter in with them. I told those who knew you, "If you'd like to take some of him, you can. We can all toss him up in the air at midnight." We called it 'Teddy Confetti'.
I thought people would think I was nuts. But they didn't. With gratitude and love, hand after hand after hand (including band members and their wives!) scooped up your glittery remains and not only offered you to the air, but put you on their faces like warpaint and pressed you to their lips like a kiss. There was more Ted on people's faces than I ever would have been OK with had you been alive! It was an honor to know that the man I love so much, the man I miss and crave so desperately will never be forgotten. And it was truly beautiful to witness how much people wanted a part of you to be a part of them. During the encore, the lights lit up with your name and the band sang the refrain, "Sometimes it seems like such a hard life, but there's good times around the bend. The rollercoaster's got to roll to the bottom if you want to climb to the top again". For about five-minutes, I felt joyful. But when the band left the stage and the house lights came on displaying the wreckage of dirty confetti and popped balloons, my sadness sank in deeper and the guilt-clock chimed.
For every step forward, it's a few steps back. I feel I'm still lingering somewhere around the start-point. Time slithers forward even though I regress. What is time anyway? What is something you can't see, you can't feel, you can't taste? Is it even real? And yet we celebrate the damned thing anyway. So, New Years – the end of a year that housed so much love, so much beauty, and both the happiest and the saddest days of my life. Around me, I watched people curse the old and await the new, while I curse the now and the new, and hide under my sheets hoping to go back three months – back to happiness, back to love, and back to when I wanted to see the light that each day brings.
Lost wanderer
I came on this trip to search for beauty. I came to dull the sharp pain that digs into my heart. I came hoping to find peace on the other side of the globe, as far as possible from where you died. I came in search of hope that true joy exists outside of our love.
Unfortunately, my search was not a success.
I have a cold from the constant change in temperature here in Spain. My nose is raw from running and my head is congested. My head is already full of confusion, which leaves no room for foggy sickness. I have an upset stomach from the food at our five-star hotel in Morocco. My skin is a mess from stress. I haven't done yoga in days. I haven't felt your presence in weeks and I haven't seen you in seven. Essentially, I'm falling apart.
I thought I was lost when you left that night, when I shook your body and you did not respond, when I put my cheek to your chest and your heart did not answer my cry. I thought I was lost when your death actually landed in my mind, when your family held me in their quivering arms and we all sobbed. I thought I was lost when my body finally caught up to my mind's understanding and realized that what she craved, she could no longer have. I thought I was lost when I drove into our garage, realized you weren't inside the house and would never be, and then understood it was actually no longer really my home. I thought I was lost when I tried to be grateful on Thanksgiving, even though in my heart I knew I was just reaching. I thought I was lost when I scattered your ashes in the Mediterranean Sea, and watched the dust of your beautiful bones mix with sand, shells, and seaglass.
But then today I packed my bags to leave for the States. I squeezed in dirty clothes, Moroccan rugs, Spanish pâté, and too many accumulated Christmas gifts. I saw all the stuff that meant absolutely nothing to me get zipped up in a suitcase that is probably overweight. And the one thing that meant the most to me of anything, anywhere was more absent then ever, weightless – yet so heavy on my heart. I sobbed, snotted, and sneezed as I smelled a hat of yours I carry with me through my stuffed nose. As I looked inside and touched your stray hairs that still cling to the fabric, I felt more lost then ever.
I met with a wonderful woman yesterday who lost her true love suddenly at twenty five. She shared her story and her gentle words of advice. She is now in her sixties and an inspirational soul: beautiful, wise, and deeply conscious. She has love in her life but it hasn't always been a constant. She told me that after her young love's death, she was left with a fairy tale script but without the lead actor. She wasn't willing to rewrite the story she had mapped out. She went on to find a replacement for the role in the same script. She married the father of her three children five years later. She never loved him in the way that he loved her. She wasn't willing. The marriage eventually ended. She told me that someday, I have to let go of what we had and be willing to rewrite my story.
I sat on the beach today and meditated. I thought of my story without you. It made me want to run into in the freezing water and try to swim to Africa with the clear knowledge that I would not make it. I told myself, 'Be gentle on yourself. It's too soon. You don't need to think about this.' But I kept thinking and my sobs worsened. I do not want my story without you in it. I want our fairy tale!
I am being suffocated by emotion. I feel a noose around my neck that grips me with one hand of sorrow and the other hand of fear. I pity myself. I pity those who have to be around me. Everyone is trying to help. But they can't. They can only stand guard and consider taking out stock in Kleenex while witnessing my bewildered wandering, slow self-sabotage, and vain attempts to appear OK.
I came in search of beauty. I learned that I am not open to its possibility. I came to witness love in others. But I only see love so different than what we had that it's painful to observe. I came to treat myself gently. I learned that tenderness is impossible when you're self destructive. I came to pass time. But saw that time is infinite, desolate, and a trickster: always too fast or too slow. I came to convince myself that everything will be OK. But everything is not OK. I came to heal some of my suffering. But I saw suffering magnified to the point where the whole world seems like a raw wound. I came to try to let go, just a little. But now I grip to your memory more than ever.
Unfortunately, my search was not a success.
I have a cold from the constant change in temperature here in Spain. My nose is raw from running and my head is congested. My head is already full of confusion, which leaves no room for foggy sickness. I have an upset stomach from the food at our five-star hotel in Morocco. My skin is a mess from stress. I haven't done yoga in days. I haven't felt your presence in weeks and I haven't seen you in seven. Essentially, I'm falling apart.
I thought I was lost when you left that night, when I shook your body and you did not respond, when I put my cheek to your chest and your heart did not answer my cry. I thought I was lost when your death actually landed in my mind, when your family held me in their quivering arms and we all sobbed. I thought I was lost when my body finally caught up to my mind's understanding and realized that what she craved, she could no longer have. I thought I was lost when I drove into our garage, realized you weren't inside the house and would never be, and then understood it was actually no longer really my home. I thought I was lost when I tried to be grateful on Thanksgiving, even though in my heart I knew I was just reaching. I thought I was lost when I scattered your ashes in the Mediterranean Sea, and watched the dust of your beautiful bones mix with sand, shells, and seaglass.
But then today I packed my bags to leave for the States. I squeezed in dirty clothes, Moroccan rugs, Spanish pâté, and too many accumulated Christmas gifts. I saw all the stuff that meant absolutely nothing to me get zipped up in a suitcase that is probably overweight. And the one thing that meant the most to me of anything, anywhere was more absent then ever, weightless – yet so heavy on my heart. I sobbed, snotted, and sneezed as I smelled a hat of yours I carry with me through my stuffed nose. As I looked inside and touched your stray hairs that still cling to the fabric, I felt more lost then ever.
I met with a wonderful woman yesterday who lost her true love suddenly at twenty five. She shared her story and her gentle words of advice. She is now in her sixties and an inspirational soul: beautiful, wise, and deeply conscious. She has love in her life but it hasn't always been a constant. She told me that after her young love's death, she was left with a fairy tale script but without the lead actor. She wasn't willing to rewrite the story she had mapped out. She went on to find a replacement for the role in the same script. She married the father of her three children five years later. She never loved him in the way that he loved her. She wasn't willing. The marriage eventually ended. She told me that someday, I have to let go of what we had and be willing to rewrite my story.
I sat on the beach today and meditated. I thought of my story without you. It made me want to run into in the freezing water and try to swim to Africa with the clear knowledge that I would not make it. I told myself, 'Be gentle on yourself. It's too soon. You don't need to think about this.' But I kept thinking and my sobs worsened. I do not want my story without you in it. I want our fairy tale!
I am being suffocated by emotion. I feel a noose around my neck that grips me with one hand of sorrow and the other hand of fear. I pity myself. I pity those who have to be around me. Everyone is trying to help. But they can't. They can only stand guard and consider taking out stock in Kleenex while witnessing my bewildered wandering, slow self-sabotage, and vain attempts to appear OK.
I came in search of beauty. I learned that I am not open to its possibility. I came to witness love in others. But I only see love so different than what we had that it's painful to observe. I came to treat myself gently. I learned that tenderness is impossible when you're self destructive. I came to pass time. But saw that time is infinite, desolate, and a trickster: always too fast or too slow. I came to convince myself that everything will be OK. But everything is not OK. I came to heal some of my suffering. But I saw suffering magnified to the point where the whole world seems like a raw wound. I came to try to let go, just a little. But now I grip to your memory more than ever.
What I know and what I don't know.
I can officially, without a drop of doubt in my mind, now say that the worst month of my life is behind me. You have been gone a month. It's been a month since we talked. It's been a month since we looked into each others eyes. It's been a month since we said "I love you". It's been a month since we kissed. And like all measures of time, it's one I can't take back.
Time is an interesting concept. One that I don't really even understand anymore, to be honest. I used to think we 'had time on our side'. That was not the case. Time robbed us. Or maybe something else robbed time. An hour seems long when you want it to be short. When you want an hour to last forever, it rushes by. Certain years of my life seem to have lasted ages, when others I had hardly remember because they whisked by. It seems like forever since I last saw you. But then it also seems like just a moment ago. I don't know what time is. I know you didn't either. We used to talk about quantum physics and agree, there was a lot more to space and time than humanity could calculate.
I remember our last kiss. It was at 8:20 pm on Friday, October 24th (2014). It was gentle and loving. We looked into each others eyes. It wasn't rushed. There is no way we could have ever known that was to be our last kiss, that you would take your last breath just five hours later. But considering it was, I have no regrets about that kiss. It was perfect.
I also remember our first kiss. It was on Sunday, January 27th 2013 at about 2 am. You said, "Can I kiss you now!?" It was as if you'd been waiting forever to do so. Maybe you had. Maybe you'd been waiting since our last lifetime together was cut short. No one knows when their first kiss will happen either. One may hope – or maybe it comes out of the blue. Eagerness and lust filling you up. Excitement standing in line with breath mints, chapstick, and impatience. Our first kiss was perfect.
I imagined our kiss on the altar thousands of times. The one that would happen after we got to say "I do". I imagined it as a collage of all the best romance movie kisses – expect better. It would be fueled with true love, excitement, passion, hope, destiny, and faith. It was going to be perfect. It still will be, someday, whatever that means.
What I never once imagined was that it wouldn't happen. I was so sure... wasn't I? Why hadn't I ever considered things could have taken a dark turn, as they did? Had I stuffed premonitions and ominous occurrences aside, and just assumed, with false hope, that we would get what we so thought we deserved – real happiness? Isn't that what the point of life is? Love? Did life deliver us what we deserved? Was our twenty months of true connection and love what life had in store for us? Did we get to squeeze as much love as most beings have in seventy years into that short time? I will never know.
There's not a lot of things I know right now. I am confused about this thing we call time. I am up in the air about the specifics of afterlife. I'm trying to decide if there's a difference between fate, destiny, and happenstance. I am hopeful, but not one-hundred-percent sure that you are watching over me. I'm not sure what to gather from the visions, the mediums, and the signs that have been appearing everywhere. I don't know where you are, I hope it's not just in dust and ashes inside of a cold urn. I don't know why you died. I don't know if there is anything I could have done. I don't know if this is a part of a master plan. I don't know what our children would have looked like, if they would have been blonde or brunette, like we often thought about. I don't know if I will ever be a mother. I don't know if we only have one soul mate. I don't know if I will ever love again. I don't know if you will come back as my child, like you told me you would. I don't know how I'm still standing. I don't know how the hair is still growing on my legs and how my cycle continues to flow, when my heart feels like it has stopped, though I can hear it beat.... beat... beat. I don't know what's next.
But, there's a few things I do know.
"I know that I am glad we had this time together. I am glad we shared our love, even though time cut it short. I also know that I still have all the love. It didn't go anywhere. In fact, it still grows. As the grief grows, the love grows. I have all this love, you gave it to me, and that is your gift to me. That is the biggest gift anyone could receive. Because now I know love, I own love, and I have your love inside of me. And I can share it, like you did. I know that my life will never be the same. I will be a new kind of woman. I will be a new kind of teacher. I will be a new kind of lover. I will be you, in some ways. I KNOW that you are inside of me – not in all the ways I want (giggity) – but you are here. I know that I would not be able to wake up, get out of bed, carry on a conversation, take care of myself, eat, even laugh, for god's sake, without you being in me. I know you are carrying me. In what way that is, I do not know at all, and I never will – but I know you are and that you always will be."
I love you.
Time is an interesting concept. One that I don't really even understand anymore, to be honest. I used to think we 'had time on our side'. That was not the case. Time robbed us. Or maybe something else robbed time. An hour seems long when you want it to be short. When you want an hour to last forever, it rushes by. Certain years of my life seem to have lasted ages, when others I had hardly remember because they whisked by. It seems like forever since I last saw you. But then it also seems like just a moment ago. I don't know what time is. I know you didn't either. We used to talk about quantum physics and agree, there was a lot more to space and time than humanity could calculate.
I remember our last kiss. It was at 8:20 pm on Friday, October 24th (2014). It was gentle and loving. We looked into each others eyes. It wasn't rushed. There is no way we could have ever known that was to be our last kiss, that you would take your last breath just five hours later. But considering it was, I have no regrets about that kiss. It was perfect.
I also remember our first kiss. It was on Sunday, January 27th 2013 at about 2 am. You said, "Can I kiss you now!?" It was as if you'd been waiting forever to do so. Maybe you had. Maybe you'd been waiting since our last lifetime together was cut short. No one knows when their first kiss will happen either. One may hope – or maybe it comes out of the blue. Eagerness and lust filling you up. Excitement standing in line with breath mints, chapstick, and impatience. Our first kiss was perfect.
I imagined our kiss on the altar thousands of times. The one that would happen after we got to say "I do". I imagined it as a collage of all the best romance movie kisses – expect better. It would be fueled with true love, excitement, passion, hope, destiny, and faith. It was going to be perfect. It still will be, someday, whatever that means.
What I never once imagined was that it wouldn't happen. I was so sure... wasn't I? Why hadn't I ever considered things could have taken a dark turn, as they did? Had I stuffed premonitions and ominous occurrences aside, and just assumed, with false hope, that we would get what we so thought we deserved – real happiness? Isn't that what the point of life is? Love? Did life deliver us what we deserved? Was our twenty months of true connection and love what life had in store for us? Did we get to squeeze as much love as most beings have in seventy years into that short time? I will never know.
There's not a lot of things I know right now. I am confused about this thing we call time. I am up in the air about the specifics of afterlife. I'm trying to decide if there's a difference between fate, destiny, and happenstance. I am hopeful, but not one-hundred-percent sure that you are watching over me. I'm not sure what to gather from the visions, the mediums, and the signs that have been appearing everywhere. I don't know where you are, I hope it's not just in dust and ashes inside of a cold urn. I don't know why you died. I don't know if there is anything I could have done. I don't know if this is a part of a master plan. I don't know what our children would have looked like, if they would have been blonde or brunette, like we often thought about. I don't know if I will ever be a mother. I don't know if we only have one soul mate. I don't know if I will ever love again. I don't know if you will come back as my child, like you told me you would. I don't know how I'm still standing. I don't know how the hair is still growing on my legs and how my cycle continues to flow, when my heart feels like it has stopped, though I can hear it beat.... beat... beat. I don't know what's next.
But, there's a few things I do know.
"I know that I am glad we had this time together. I am glad we shared our love, even though time cut it short. I also know that I still have all the love. It didn't go anywhere. In fact, it still grows. As the grief grows, the love grows. I have all this love, you gave it to me, and that is your gift to me. That is the biggest gift anyone could receive. Because now I know love, I own love, and I have your love inside of me. And I can share it, like you did. I know that my life will never be the same. I will be a new kind of woman. I will be a new kind of teacher. I will be a new kind of lover. I will be you, in some ways. I KNOW that you are inside of me – not in all the ways I want (giggity) – but you are here. I know that I would not be able to wake up, get out of bed, carry on a conversation, take care of myself, eat, even laugh, for god's sake, without you being in me. I know you are carrying me. In what way that is, I do not know at all, and I never will – but I know you are and that you always will be."
I love you.
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