Memories

Dear Alden, 

Gosh, not a silent moment goes by that I don't miss you. Wish you were here. Want to hear you, see you, touch you, feel you...

I was watching TV tonight and think about the comfort boob. It made me smile for a moment before it made me sad. I'll never have my book held and called a comfort book again. That lead my mind to remember you, and how much you loved my books. You thought they were perfect. I remember you taking a nipple in your mouth and sucking it, stopping to smile with your eyes and look at me. Only for a moment, then back to it. Gosh I loved that. I loved how you touched me. I teased you about your talented fingers. Even gave them an award. I miss being touched. Being wanted like that. 

I will always remember that morning...the first morning we were back in Seattle after our honeymoon. You had to get up for work. But your alarm went off and instead you sat up and started to have sex with me. You had such a grin on your face as you were having your way with me. Then, mid thrust, you stopped. "I've gotta take a shower." You said. And promptly got up and left for the shower. No one finished. I just laughed. It became our joke. Our own private joke. 

Just like bjs in the car. You pulling over so I could give you a proper one. Me teasing you on the way to the ocean, while you were driving...or you just putting your hand down my shirt and groaping me...while driving. If I was mad at you you'd put your hand in my shirt and try to make me cum. Then the time a biker saw you doing that and saluted you. 

We had so many silly jokes around our sex life. Things we could by sly about. Like you making sex motions with our fingers while holding my hand...trying to get me to laugh...slowly increasing the fingers so it became a fist. You thought you were so funny. Truthfully, I did too. 

I miss that. The little things we shared. Little inside jokes. Little side glances. I didn't get enough of them. I should have had many more years of memories, inside jokes and laughs. 

I hate that I am wish I was sick, all the time. I hear of people who are in the wrong place at the wrong time and I'm jealous. I don't want to exist anymore. I really, truly don't. I am empty inside. I can't be really happy. I try. I really do. I put on a good show. But when I feel like someone genuinely cares I loose the facade. I start to cry. And the problem is, I feel like that's me actually being me. I am hurting. So much. My heart is broken. I cannot even put it into words. I remember you, and I think of the many memories I have of us...and then my mind is like "don't forget what happened..." and I'm seeing you for the last time again. I'm seeing you sit up and take off your cpap. I see youbstart to stand only to crumble to the floor. And I want to mentally scream. No! That cannot be real. I don't want it to be real. I wasn't supposed to loose you that night. I wasn't supposed to have to do CPR on the love of my life. It can't be real. My world fractured in that moment and I got caught in a living hell. A nightmare I cannot wake up from. 

People tell me that my writing has made a difference. That people are learning from me about grief. My own cousin said I have inspired him to want to love and be loved the way we loved. And I feel lucky for a moment. For a moment I think about how I did truly...really truly...know what it was to be so loved. To have your arms around me and think that must be what heaven is like. But then I wonder if I felt like that because I needed subconsciously to know what you were experiencing now. If you feel what I could in those tender moments...then I'm jealous. To feel so loved and safe and free from care...I got to experience that...and I know I was lucky. 

But at the same time...at the same time I don't feel connected to anything anymore. My little glimpse of heaven is gone and never coming back. My person, the one who knew me the best out of anyone...and still accepted me, still loved me, still made me feel so happy...he's gone. And I'm hurting. 

I don't want to be here anymore. I honestly hadn't since I lost you. I keep trying to will a sickness, some terminal wrongness onto myself. Hoping I have something that will at least give me a time to look forward to. And then I remember my partarical blessing. I'll live a long and healthy life...and now I think "no thanks." 

I'm so done with this. I'm done with fighting with myself. With the constant inner battles. Of trying to feel you. Of feeling spiritually dead. Of just wanting to scream all the flipping time and curl into a ball. I know I can have you back. I know, a silent have been told, that you are waiting for me. So, why can't my time be up? Why can't I be the next to go? I just want to be in his arms again...and I won't be really happy until that happens. 

I hate this life. I hate this role I've been given. I hate that date...the date I lost you. I hate this version me me.