April 2 is my least favorite day of the year and yet April 1 seems to always get me. Maybe the impending doom is worse than the doom itself. Is that possible?
Tomorrow marks the fifth anniversary of Kevin's death. Five years, a half a decade, longer than we were together as a couple. A lifetime ago. It all seems like a lifetime ago, the person I was before and the person I was after. I cried more in the first few months than thought possible. To this day, if I close my eyes I can put myself right back there. I can feel what it felt like to fall to my kitchen floor, crying, unable to stand up any longer. I can remember vividly the ache in my chest, the constant dreams, the numbness that filled the gaps between tears. I lost 20 pounds in two months even though I swear I remember eating. Leaving the house took all of my strength, getting through work was exhausting. It was all a painful, messy blur.
Five years later...I think about Kevin often. I think about all the things he's missed. I think about the music he would have liked, the movies he would have told me to watch. I wonder what it would have been like to have him around when Lola was sick, when she died. Would he still be the person that I called late at night when something was bothering me? Would I still wonder if he was the love of my life? Would we still get into fights about dumb things? Would heroin have taken away the things that made him so spectacular or would he have found a way to get and stay clean?
None of those things really matter because it's not how life worked out. Life keeps going for the people left behind and that's what happened. I'm grateful that time has dulled the pain, blurred the memories, kept moving forward.
I miss him all the time. I miss my champion, my love, my pain in the ass friend. I miss knowing that somewhere out there someone loved me the way he did. I miss so much about him. I miss not knowing the pain that was losing him.
April 2, I feel you coming and I hate you.
Tomorrow marks the fifth anniversary of Kevin's death. Five years, a half a decade, longer than we were together as a couple. A lifetime ago. It all seems like a lifetime ago, the person I was before and the person I was after. I cried more in the first few months than thought possible. To this day, if I close my eyes I can put myself right back there. I can feel what it felt like to fall to my kitchen floor, crying, unable to stand up any longer. I can remember vividly the ache in my chest, the constant dreams, the numbness that filled the gaps between tears. I lost 20 pounds in two months even though I swear I remember eating. Leaving the house took all of my strength, getting through work was exhausting. It was all a painful, messy blur.
Five years later...I think about Kevin often. I think about all the things he's missed. I think about the music he would have liked, the movies he would have told me to watch. I wonder what it would have been like to have him around when Lola was sick, when she died. Would he still be the person that I called late at night when something was bothering me? Would I still wonder if he was the love of my life? Would we still get into fights about dumb things? Would heroin have taken away the things that made him so spectacular or would he have found a way to get and stay clean?
None of those things really matter because it's not how life worked out. Life keeps going for the people left behind and that's what happened. I'm grateful that time has dulled the pain, blurred the memories, kept moving forward.
I miss him all the time. I miss my champion, my love, my pain in the ass friend. I miss knowing that somewhere out there someone loved me the way he did. I miss so much about him. I miss not knowing the pain that was losing him.
April 2, I feel you coming and I hate you.
