I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know why I thought a few days would do the trick. I don’t know why I thought holding my tears in would make it go away. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn’t really thinking at all.
I do know that I can’t stop thinking about you. About the fact that you really aren’t here anymore. I know I was there that morning, I know I watched your chest the entire time we were there, hoping that I would see the slightest movement telling me it wasn’t real, that you were still with us. I know that moment never came. I know just a few months ago, I was sitting in my friends living room telling them I wouldn’t even think of moving from home because I needed to be close enough to make sure my grandparents were okay. I told them it would be years. Years…years that turned into months. Months that felt like one blink of an eye. I remember talking to you on the phone during that trip, you telling me that you couldn’t wait to see me when I came home. I thought you would be there for a million more returns home from trips all across the world. And now, you’re not. How is that fair?
The night before that day, I could barely sleep. I knew what was coming. I think we all did. That morning, I laid in bed listening to my mom sobbing and trying to form words that made sense and all I could do was lay there and listen. After I laid there and listened, I sat up on the edge of my bed and listened. I was hiding behind my door from a reality that had already found me the night before. My door cracked and my step-dad told me what I already knew. Then my phone rang and it was my older cousin asking me if I knew already. I couldn’t find the words to tell him I knew when I left the hospital the night before. But no amount of “knowing” prepares you for when it actually happens. None. God could have shown me the time line of your life, noting the place, date and exact time and it would have still taken my breath away with as much force as it does even now.
Now, I feel like I can’t call when I’m on my way to the house anymore because I would always ask grandma if she needed anything while I was on my way. She’d usually reply with her normal “I can’t think of anything…” & I would immediately tell her to ask you. When you weren’t sleep it was either nothing or something as simple as a bottle of Robitussin (something you never stopped taking even when grandma fussed that you didn’t need it lol). Even then, when I stopped for a loaf of bread or a case of water, I wished I could pick up a bottled cure for the illness that was slowly cutting days off from your life.
I’m afraid of speaking of you in the present and shattering the little functionality that we have regained following your passing.
Walking up the stairs, I have to resist the urge to knock on the door and come in to make sure you’re okay. Because you will never be able to tell me to come in again. I can’t hear your distinctive footsteps on the stairs, knowing it was you before you even poked your head out for us to see you. I can’t hear your voice again. I can’t hear your laugh again, I can’t hug you or kiss your cheek again. I can’t unfeel this emptiness that crept up on me so quickly and made my chest home.
I’m not sleeping but I cannot get out of bed. When I cross the getting out of bed hurdle, it’s like my legs don’t want to move. My body is literally carrying the weight of this heartbreak, the weight of an unchangeable state of missing you. I don’t know what to do and I can’t imagine spending many more days like this. I want this to all go away. I want to wake up, get in my car, drive to your house, let myself in and see you laying in your chair or sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee, fooling around with your records or coming up from the basement modeling your newly darkened hair. ☺ I would give anything to sit in the living room and watch an old black and white film on TMC while you schooled me on the actors and actresses and sung along with the beautiful songs from way back when.
I just want you.
I wish I could rewind time, alter time and give you a longer, healthier, happier life that you were so deserving of. The world, my world, all of our world’s were better with you in it. Now that you’re gone, I don’t know what to make of this world anymore…
Love you forever. Miss you forever.