In what seems like an instant, he is gone. Like a magic act, he's disappeared from my life. Many pieces of him remain--clothes, glasses, tools, golf clubs, that damn motorcycle that won't sell. But the heart and spirit of him are gone. What's left is just stuff. Stuff that I wish wasn't here because it just reminds me of him.
I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I didn't really understand the depths of the pain involved in losing someone. My whole body hurts. I want to scream and cry but I don't. I go about the business of living. I go to work, come home exhausted. I feel bad because I was inadequate to anyone I've known that's lost someone close to them. I try to suppress the rage that I feel about his last days of life--how unfair that someone so strong should die so weak. I try not to hate all the bastards that abandoned us. The "friends" and family that disappeared because it was too hard for THEM.
Fuck you.
I try not to resent the entire world--moving on as if nothing happened. As if he didn't matter.
He did matter. He shaped my entire adult life. Now it's an open chasm.
During the last round of immmunotherapy treatment (read: lots of drugs), I dreamed that we were dust ghosts, like humans made of paper mache'. And walking along, he just went POOF and disappeared. I try to forget that in my dream I followed suit just a little further down the path.
