remember


Remember when you told me you had to splash water on your face at the airport because you got all nervous and anxious to see me? You drove us to the beach so you could show me where you hang out – where we would hang out next winter. I kept hinting that I’d like to go get a hotel room, but I didn’t even think that you were scoping out your feelings – and mine. I got a coffee, we walked around. We talked. You held my hand. It felt so good to hold your hand – to have someone want to hold my hand. We walked around for what felt like hours, but really, it wasn’t that long was it? I remember you looked at me and you were like – let’s go get that hotel room now. The King’s Inn? Was that it? We were so funny. God, I miss you Dave. I had the best sleep I’d had in six months that night. And the two nights after. But we went back out to the beach that day. And we finally saw that sunset we had been waiting to watch together for six months. But I was tired from my journey. I really needed sleep. You held me until I fell asleep. Earlier I gave you that shirt and your present from NZ. You loved it. You finally had a necklace from me, as I was and still am wearing your pin around my neck. I asked you where my birthday present was – hah – it’s in the store still. That made me laugh. I remember you telling me you didn’t mess around with a single girl the whole time we were apart. I laughed at that too. You were allowed. I didn’t even care. The only rules were if you did, you had to take it to the grave, lie to me about it – and – if you met the girl of your dreams you had to tell me so I didn’t have to endure another heart-wrenching break up as soon as we were together. Whatever Dave. The important part is that you were mine to the end. And you told me that you were pretty certain you already met the girl of your dreams. You were leaning over me. It was our second night and you said that when you get home you think we should go shopping for some white pants for you and a sundress for me. You couldn’t have known how my heart flipped. But I played it cool. Really? And you were so sure – yah, I think we should get on that right away. But I had to ask if it was too soon. I mean, shouldn’t we wait a year or so, make sure we can live with each other. But you said you didn’t think we’d have any problem living together, but then you made that joke about waiting in case we had to get paper spouses. We talked for hours. We sat in the hot tub, drank beer and talked. On the lounge chairs in the sun and talked. In bed snuggled close and talked. And the feeling was still there. That feeling that amazed us both. It was still there after 10 months.

Our last phone call… sigh. How I wish I called you that day when I thought of it. But no. I texted you three times, all within 15 minutes of your death. Then one later that evening, but I didn’t know you were gone. I was worried. I kept calling. It was so unlike you to not pick up. But, it was so like you to leave your phone behind, be busy doing something else or just forget to charge your phone. OH. And it wasn’t working again. You couldn’t even phone or text me – just facebook. But I left my computer at home that day. Dammit. So many things went wrong. But I don’t know if it would’ve been easier Dave. Had I spoken to you whilst you hiked that hill, only to learn later what happened… I don’t think that would make any of this easier.

Our last phone call… sigh. “I’m drinking in Brazil!” You made me laugh. We talked for over 30 minutes, or was it 45? I don’t know. I don’t recall. We kept trying to hang up the phone. I didn’t want to intrude on your fun with your friends during your last week in San Diego. I guess, maybe that’s good. You got your last day of fun. Drinking in Brazil. I never really thought of it that way before. You had told me you were partying it up with your last week to go. I don’t know why, but it made me uneasy. I guess I was just worried you’d do something stupid. But we talked good. I told you I moved the clothes over in the cupboard. I told you about my friend with the moving truck. I told you so many things – that I had taken care of for you to come home and us to get started. i told you I was going writing that night. I told you I was going to PST the next day. You laughed. You were having fun – drinking in Brazil. I sent you a message before I went to bed that night. You were probably drunk. I didn’t talk to you again. You sent me one last message a few hours before you died. And you poked me. We had such a poking war. And that poke still sits there Dave. You never chatted with me on facebook anymore. Kyle wouldn’t allow it. But I had your chat window open. And it still sits there on the bottom of my screen. Empty. I know in time I’ll remove that poke. I know in time I’ll close that window. It’s torture to see them. But not yet. I’m not ready yet.

You know Dave. It never occurred to me that I might not grow old. I always thought I would. Alway thought that. But now – well, now I think differently. Now I realize that I may not live forever. Now I realize that I could die tomorrow. And I’m sick and tired of planning for a future that may not exist. You were right. I never got it before. But you were right. You said you were surprised that you made it to 32. But you’re a guy and guys say that shit. But if it was dangerous, you were into it. I just wish you had more of a desire to survive at times then to live.

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About humanbeen

I'm a has-been that was. I'm a dreamer that does.
This entry was posted in coping, death, grief, heartbreak, loss. Bookmark the permalink.

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