Remembrances

I'll never forget the day you left.
The weather was as fickle and bipolar as I. Sunny one moment, drizzling grey the next.
The desert dryness of the paper as I wrapped the plates we both love.
Our dog... who smelled of sweat and Fritos.
The cats - hiding in corners. One of them as old as "us".
The red-sided garter snakes that taunted me from the side of your U-Haul with the simple question,
"Where will U go next?"
I don't know.
I don't know anything right now.
If I try to think too hard, I forget to breathe.

The ring of the doorbell and the leap of my heart when it reached for the impossible one last time, opening to a stranger with a slender package.
The new blinds for our room... my room.
The pit in my belly swells with the clouds.
Will you be okay? Will I be okay?

I still expect to hear the jingle of a collar and the patter of paws as the dog makes her rounds.
Like a zombie, I shuffle from room to room seeing everything and nothing.
You left your Gatorade on the coffee table, half-drunk.
If I lift it to my lips, can I still taste you?

Gone in an instant are the vile names we called each other, the hurts we hurled so carelessly, the pain we bore silently for years.
There is an echo... losing strength with every repetition... until there is only the vacuum of silence.
I want to cry and scream and wail and chase you down to beg you to stay.
I'll change. I'll be different.
Better. Stronger. Kinder.

The phone rings to distract me from my selfish indulgence to embrace the pain.
The voice on the other end speaks words of encouragement that wrap my heart in hope. She tells me that I am better today than I was yesterday. Stronger now than I've ever been. Kinder than I am even aware.

The universe heralded your exit with dramatic booms and thunderous applause, raining sheets of silver that stripped my garden to its roots.
The only survivors, the potatoes, safely buried in their protective cocoons.
The beans, once the pride of my labours... are a heap of delicate, fragile tendrils, their fat leaves caked with compost and soil, weighing them down to the earth that promises to reclaim them.
The landscape is desolate, but I urge them to fight... to survive... to thrive, even.

I will never forget the day you left.
The first time I've seen my son cry since Junior High.
He poured his rum and coke and sliced a lime - just like yours.
I poured a glass of KJ Chardonnay - just like old times.
We talked about our next step. Our "plan".
We inventory the things you left behind. The Keurig, the bathroom hooks, a painting...
us.

My tears blur the path - I can only see one step at a time.
I trust the rain will cleanse.
I trust my heart will heal.
I trust you will be well.