Today, for some reason, is a Saturday like Saturdays were the first few months after he left. I don’t completely know why. I’ve intentionally stopped counting Saturdays, numbering the hours and weeks since he left. Maybe someday, I won’t even remember the time of day. It has taken everything in me to not break down today—multiple times—once in the middle of a massage.
It’s been a week. A week of hearing other people complain and hurt. Some hurts so real and deep and huge that I don’t know how the person continues to function. Others seemingly trivial and made into issues of pain that really should only be a pin-prick. Either way, I have heard a lot from people who are hurting so desperately. They say that misery loves company. In part, that is true. In another part, it’s not. I don’t want my pain to be compared to someone else’s. It somehow makes it less mine if others are going through similar (more or less), and not in a relieving kind of way. I’m tired of hearing people complain. Tired of people that are hurting. I’m tired of hearing myself complain. I’m tired of myself hurting.
Since I have told myself that I am not going to see him for a long time, I’ve had a sense of relief. That is gone today. All I want to do is see him. See my best friend. The person I love the most. I miss HIM so much.
I went to see Love Happens with Jennifer Anniston last night. I didn’t want to see it, but I wanted to be with KE and MS, so I went. It was really good. Not a sappy romance in any stretch. It was about dealing with death and trying to figure out how to keep living and going on after a death. The three of us spent the movie in tears. I’ve been through so many deaths, and this just feels like one more. And I don’t know really how to burry it. I don’t want to. He’s not really dead. He’s not gone. If I wanted, I know I could call him and he’d meet me in an hour if he wasn’t working. He wouldn’t second guess, he’d just say that he’d do whatever I need him to do. But that doesn’t change the fact that death happened. Who we were together died—was killed. Maybe part of him did too. Maybe it didn’t. But, I know part of me did. How do you move on after death? How you find your wholeness again when so much of yourself has been ripped away?