Four months ago today, I spoke with you. Not in my mind, which is where I find you these days, but in this actual world, concrete and true. Although I didn't realize it at the time, it was final. No negotiations or do-overs - our time was over and those last words were borrowed. I wonder if you knew, somewhere inside your heart that bled for me, that you would be leaving. When you left the house that day, did you linger in our foyer and memorize everything to take with you to the world beyond?
I've had to stop myself from wondering - the wondering leaves me twisted and consumed by a puzzle that will never be solved. As the inevitable clock puts more space between where we ended and my new life began, I find myself reflecting on what I thought was important. After all, wishes can change once one walks to the edge to find there is not an infinite number of tomorrows.
I've come to realize that there are no prizes and no medals handed out when you transition between this life and whatever comes next (unless you were the recipient of the Best New Angel award and somehow forgot to tell me about it). There are certainly no awards here. There are wisps of ribbon with one-dimensional attributes. Husband. Brother. Son. Grandson. Nephew. Though those are accurate representations of certain roles you played, there is nothing there that speaks to your soul. There are no awards for Most Hours Spent At Work or Dying with the Most Money in Your Bank Account or Fastest Car That Cost the Most. If you were to receive awards upon your departure, Babe, you would've received Best Cuddling Nook. Or Most Likely to Hoard Cats. Or Quencher of All Fears. Or Creator of the Home of Dreams. I would cheer for each one and shower you with roses and kisses and whatever the fuck else award winners receive and I would sing your victory as you crossed into the abyss.
Now I find myself uninterested in the recognition that I once would clamor for. I always needed more. More money, more clothes, more opportunities, more romance, more excitement. Now the only more I find myself desiring is time. More time. But I know that cannot be and so I settle for all of the mores that make up a life. More laughter. More embraces. More kindness. More experience. More truth. Losing you has snatched me out of the tomorrow and forced me to be ever present, living moment to moment. Some moments are almost unbearable. Some moments bring an almost otherworldly rapture. All are fleeting and reflected upon as I propel from one to the next.
I'm used to yearning for you, and used to the melancholy that hovers in wait. At first I thought those feelings would lead to my destruction. Now I know that I am an inferno and all of the yearning and melancholy and missing and despair have become the fuel that has left me indestructible. I wear them like badges as I head from one decision to another. You would be proud of me, I think. You used to tease me about the trepidation that would accompany any choice I made. What would people think? Would I be judged? Would this make others happy? Instead of What will I think? Will I judge myself? Will this make me happy? I only have a couple of rules for myself now. When making a decision, I ask myself:
Is this what I want?
Is this healthy for me?
Will I be harming anyone?
If all answers check out, I forge ahead. No fear. There is no time for it. At the end of my life, I will not receive an award for Worried Most About What Others Thought. Those that loved me will give out their own awards. And they will sing my victory song as they send me off. Until then I will navigate through these waters until I find the reason I am here. And until then I will love you, and miss you, and honor you with my life.
Love,
Amanda
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