It amazes me how I continue to be pissed at existence for introducing me to Dave and then having him get killed off. I mean, Dave was the one who messed up, but I guess I’m convinced that if there is some kind of plan and order to the chaos that removing him from this world seven months ago was rude, cruel and most certainly avoidable. I still wonder why. I still wonder if there was anyway I could’ve seen it coming and saved him/us. It’s pointless, so I don’t dwell on it, but it does pop into my head at the most inopportune moments.
Someone had asked me why I put so much energy into my loss and pain, and it was difficult to explain the difference between the selfishness of loss and the annihilation of one’s self due to a broken heart. My heart is broken. I try not to think about it. I try not to think about him much these days. But then I notice I talk about him like he’s an old friend. I bring him up in random conversation and I see the sideways glances people give me. I sense they’re weary to hear me talk of him – like I’m obsessed and dwelling on it. Like they want me to move on and get over it. I don’t care anymore about their discomfort. I try not to bring him up, but I can’t help it. He was real. He is still a real part of my past that I miss. And those times I bring him up, it doesn’t mean I’m unstable and about to become some tragic heap of tears. I mean, isn’t it healthy to be kind to the past? Isn’t it healthy to be at terms with the past and not ignore it? I don’t think I’m dwelling on it. I think I have memories. I miss him. My heart is broken. But he also is an old friend that none of us have seen or talked to in seven months. And I finally want to smile about the good times I did have. Isn’t that ok? Isn’t that what everyone was waiting for?
Life makes me laugh sometimes. It’s so diabolically ironic. And its sense of humour is very very dark. I get it all too well these days and it makes me more cynical than I already am. This, of course, goes back to that plan and order in the chaos presumption. When I was a child I thought that I was destined for great things. I think everyone does. As I got older I started to doubt that I would have the energy or perseverance to do great things. And then I got to the point where I just wanted to have the greatest life I could have, and that would be enough. I get that we all have to make do with life’s twists and turns, and I get that what we put into the world doesn’t come back to us as a complete reflection. But somedays my existence with Dave makes sense to me. His death makes sense – to me – logically speaking, when I think of chaos and order with dark humour. But it doesn’t last long. My broken heart knocks on my mind and I’m reminded that feelings are far more real to any one of us than a presumption and hope that there is some plan or order to the things we can not control in our great lives. Besides, not a single one of us will know until we take the path Dave has beaten us to. And even then, who’s to say if it will matter or we will care? But here. Here I care. Here I’m gonna talk about Dave because he was here. Once upon a time he was real and I will not forget.