as for now


When I saw Dave in San Diego I gave him a jade necklace I picked out for him in New Zealand. He had given me his pin necklace before I had left, so I felt that I had to replace it with something. When I gave it to him he smiled. He pulled it out of the box and put it on right away. It had two of those slip knots on either side so you could just slide the knots and adjust the length of it. They kept slipping and Dave wanted me to retie it around his neck with a better knot. We never got around to it. I guess we were busy. Originally I had told Gavin he could have it. Gavin agreed. But somewhere along the line he had lost it. He ended up finding it at his grandmother’s. Yesterday Gavin insisted that I have the necklace. So, I took it. I put it on. It made me feel close to Dave. The issue, however, is that jade necklaces should be a gift. You cannot buy it for yourself. If the necklace doesn’t suit you, you are supposed to put it away, rather than give it away, and it will seek out its new owner. I’m not sure if this is what happened. Jade is meant to be a protective gem. 😦

Last night I was pulling on the slip knots when I noticed what appeared to be a red fuzz. I inspected and soon discovered it wasn’t fuzz. It was brownish red. It was under the knot that held the gem on too. Dave was wearing this necklace when he died. It dawned on me that this was probably dried blood that didn’t get cleaned off. The blood hid in the crevices just enough to give me a mental image. Why did I investigate? I don’t know. Sick curiosity? I didn’t sleep with it last night. I left it on the table and tried to decide what to do. I put it on this morning and have decided to just deal with it – mental imagery and all. Dave didn’t want to leave a pretty corpse. Not that I’m saying he wanted to die, cause I know he wanted a life with me. I don’t know how to say this eloquently. He just always wanted to go big. If he had died tripping on a shoelace I think all of this would be even harder. But he died doing what he loved, reaching for the stars – he died because he dared to live. It’s still weird to have the necklace. It’s still fucked that he’s not here. There’s just so much I want to tell him, like about rollers and driving, his son and my life.

I’ve had some rough days lately. I’m told that they are far from over. I find it best to put Dave in a place in my brain that I can open and close at whim. I haven’t quite mastered the closing part yet. And I haven’t quite been able to contain him to just one little place. He’s everywhere in my head. But I don’t mind really. I’m kind of glad it hurts this much. I know that sounds crazy, but it gives me a sense of justification. I truly love him. I always will, and that pain is just one sign of that love. Things change everyday, though. My head gets clearer some days, and then other days I’m lost in the fog and can’t stop crying. Everyday is different. Sometimes I feel like I make progress and then sometimes I feel like I fall back. Everything I’ve read on loss has told me that we all do it differently, that there is no right or wrong way to go about grieving really. I cherish the good days. I take the bad days for what they are. I am being patient with myself. I am not judging myself. I take advice when I know it comes from the right place – like from someone who has lost their partner, or someone who is trained to deal with grief. I take the support of my friends whom have offered me their ears and their strength to keep me up when I might fall. This whole experience is new to me. I don’t know how to be graceful. I don’t care to be graceful. I’m stumbling a lot, but maybe that’s part of the process too. Everyday I wish Dave were here. Every single day. But my wishes don’t come true. It’s enough to make me lose hope in life, but I keep trying to avoid that. The world has gone on for thousands upon thousands of years. Death is part of the cycle. I just never thought Dave would go so soon. I never thought the man I love would go. You never think it’s going to be your guy.

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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, fear, grief, heartbreak, loss, starting over, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to as for now

  1. Tania Hope says:

    Sheri, your writing is so beautiful and so inspirational. I hope it will continue.

  2. Mary P says:

    this really makes you rethink your own life and makes you appreciate your own happiness even more than before…

  3. Andrea says:

    His greenstone made it’s way back to you. That’s a beautiful thing.

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