Maybe the actual two-year anniversary of him leaving is Monday, since it’s the 18th, but, to me, it’s today. He left on a Saturday. In the aftermath of a torrential snow storm. I knew he was leaving the night before, and we had one last night together. Then we woke up, packed, cried, and at 3:13, he walked out the door.
Around this exact same time, including the time change, is the time I land in Seattle. The place that has been a refuge for the last two years. The place I’ve escaped to, the place, I’ve eaten, danced, shopped, cried, written, mourned his loss, left myself behind, have been someone else for two or three days at a time. And, here I go once more. With dreams of him from last night (constantly trying to text him, but never able to get the message to send to his phone---hmmmm, wonder what that means), I leave him behind and take him with me. The plan, at least symbolically, this time, is to leave him there. Leave him in Seattle. Leave us in Seattle. Not return. At least for a long, long time. Not going to sit and cry all weekend. Probably won’t shed a tear. I will give him half an hour of my time at a coffee shop, today or tomorrow; give him a moment as I fly back home on Monday, and then be done. Symbolically, and hopefully, soon, literally. To end the grieving, the hoping, the constant hurting. Time to live.
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago