Fourteen years too fast
All around me I see things you would enjoy. A song on the radio, a book I can’t put down, a new video game or MMO that I’m positive would appeal to you.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking how I can’t wait to tell you about this awesome scene in this book I just read and use it to encourage you to read it — for I know you would’ve procrastinated.
Other times I am playing my character in an MMORPG and think to myself, “Wow, you would really enjoy this story line. Or this dungeon. Or this battleground/warfront”.
I’ve done really well coping with your loss, I think. I barely think about you and I haven’t cried over you in many years now. It’s probably because I’ve forced myself to not cry over you and disallowed myself to let our memories float around in the forefront of my mind. How else could I function if you’re haunting me constantly? I know this is exactly what you wanted of me. I know you asked me to go about it this very way but I cannot help to feel sad for it. Sometimes bad for it. You knew me too well, how good I was at forcing myself to forget things. To keep on moving regardless of the pain or the hardships. I know this is why you asked me to do it this way and I’ve done well enough abiding your wish all this time.
That was until two things happened.
I discovered a book series that existed when you were still alive (maybe you even read the first two books. They came out before you died) and the announcement of the new Star Wars MMO. I cannot read the damned book without feeling immense waves of grief and guilt; I cannot pine for that awesome new MMO without remembering exactly how you felt for that franchise and how much you’d be drooling over it too. I can’t help but wonder if you’d beg me to play late at night with you, to accommodate our time differences, so you could level a Jedi with me. I also know you’d be calling me at 3am to tell me about the Tyrion chapter you just read or how much you love Robb Stark, as I know he seems just like you.
It is very hard to believe that it’s fourteen years now. I still vividly remember that night we all came over for the cook out. The one where you were chasing me all around the three floors of your house, trying to desperately snap a picture of me. I told you I didn’t want you to but you kept pushing. You finally got me as I ran around the base of the stairwell. I was wearing that two-sizes-too-big Tweety Bird t-shirt. The one on the blue tie-dyed back ground. My hair was gold from the summer spent constantly in the sun with you and my friends. I remember the photo just as well. I was slightly blurry and very tan, my hair flying off to the side. It was short back then, barely below my jaw bone. I wish I knew where that photo was; oh how I’d love to have a copy of it.
Up until my husband, you were my only true best friend and confidant. I remember the secrets we shared and the prank calls we pulled. I remember us ganging up on Robert because he was bigger than the both of us, and tackling him to the ground … only to have both of you turn on me and tickle me until I was purple in the face.
I’ve never been the same since you left. I’m beyond cynical and jaded. I’m /damaged/. I’ll never be better or be the same. I’m barely suited to be someone’s best friend, less yet wife; that’s how badly and deep the pain cuts me. You screwed up my entire outlook on the world. You screwed me up.
Yet I still miss you. Though I will continue to uphold my promise, and forget you the best I can.