with today.
i find myself and others talking more about his death than his life. it's a tendency that we have to dwell on the most tragic nuances. as though his death wasn't, in fact, part of his life.
he was a good man, or rather he tried very hard to be to me. it wasn't truly in his nature to be one of those men who opened doors for you or who took you out to a nice restaurant for valentine's day. we shared packs of cigarettes and snuck into indie films up the street. that was just our way. i never cared for the romance that others packaged and sold. i just wanted to have a bit of fun with my best friend. after all, that's what he was first and foremost. he was my best friend. he was the best at being my friend, my companion, my storyteller, and my bean.
in the same manner that he tried to be a traditional boyfriend to me, i tried very hard to be enough for him. that was all i ever wanted was to be enough for him. eventually, it would be ok that he needed all of life and worldly worlds to satisfy him. we eventually would laugh at his hunger.
i've filed away so many of those moments ... those choice words. i fear i'd need to be hypnotized to bring his smile back now, but it's for the better. i don't know that my heart could handle the weight of his face, the sound of his breath, or the turn of his glare ever again. it's only a false promise. it's only me missing my friend.
that's how i describe it now. i turn to my husband, and whispering over our newborn's head in the dark of night, three in the morning, five or one, i simply say, "honey, i miss my friend." he slips his hand into mine, and he says, "i know."
it can't get any worse you see than how we miss him. my husband, he misses him for me. our family, we miss him for each other and for the people that never knew his heated words, his serrated laugh.
five years ago, i could have told you that i would love again, i would marry, i would have this babe who sleeps so well against my heart. but five years ago, i could have never told you that the pain was just as fierce, that nothing would have truly changed, and that it still seems like yesterday that i said goodbye.
we talk about his death as an event all on its own when truly it is part of his life. it is the part in which he fought his fight and won in the only way he knew how, by saying, "fuck it, i'm having a smoke."
a long time ago, but not long enough ago that hearts weren't broken and girls weren't afraid, a philosopher told me that the next great task belonged to me.
i knew of what he meant, but i assumed death would follow, a great task that was to the point and ceasing. it was only last night in the soft air of five a.m. that i realized that my great task was this incredible being growing in my belly. i had begun building, and my job wouldn't be done until i could contribute to the world what has been taken from us. the next generation is beneath my belly with the hiccups.
a fantastic feeling to know that my husband and i can not only create together but build as well.
i began a small traveling last night. the night on the porch in austin when a opossum tried to chew my toes. back to a smoky bar, in which i first met my dear friend, josh. trying to remember what the armchair looked like, the one that kate and i transported via T in boston. a china cabinet, antique and well-laden, full of books. and how seth's room was always the smallest room in the back that drew all of the people.
occasionally, i would try to sleep, but i felt as if someone were awake with me somewhere and needed my comfort.
people who cannot create or muster any joy for another's life event ...
well, they need to be dealt with.
if only i weren't so tired.
skulking around in the back of my closet, and i keep dreaming of something that looks like the bowels of the past. but instead of paying attention or paying no mind, i sit there and listen while it scolds me, while it tells me that i'm always wrong, while it tells me that it hopes me and the future are very happy together.
and i don't mean to cry when that song comes back to the chorus, but it sounds like something that i used to call home before it burned down. before it became the ashes i tattooed into my skin.
i am a home.
and desperately listening with an intent i knew nothing about.
driving to work and 'eve of destruction' came on a radio station that i never listen to and i never would listen to except it is randomly programmed as button number five and who am i to say 'no' to the fates that program my radio stations and so when there was nothing but commercials, i flipped to that ominous number five and there was eve of destruction and me saying, i think i know this song, when truly seth used to claim that he would sing that song when it was just him and a guitar and piles of abandoned cars at the essential end of the world and so he practiced it constantly in new orleans while chainsmoking on our roof and drinking a beer while i would sit next to him scribbling away in my notebook with a whiskey and a cigarette and somehow this is what our relationship could be all-encompassed to was two people who were chosen to 'be' together, separate, and next to each other at a certain point in time with few to no pretenses and very little money.
i just miss his smile sometimes.
it was a beautiful morning with the sun out and a cool breeze.
i was on my way to work, and while driving past city park, i had to brake slightly to let a young squirrel run across the road. i felt good about that, about seeing a little squirrel diving through the city to reach its destination.
i looked in my rearview mirror to only see a black truck purposely run over the squirrel. without sensitivity or a smile for spring, these two men in their black truck roared past me and were laughing. my hand instantly went up to my mouth, and i audibly gasped.
it just seems like the type of thing that you don't do, ya know? you don't purposefully hit animals that are running through traffic, and you don't laugh about it. i really thought people were smarter, brighter, happier with themselves. it makes me sad to know that i live in a city where people like that live.
the reality is that my life has tailspun and gone all hooey, but not necessarily in a bad way.
the uber-busy and the swamped rejoice on a day-to-day basis for being given something to do or doing something they've even come up with themselves. and i follow along in my quasi nine to five with thoughts of sugarplums and whiskeys dancing in my head.
apologies to the ghosts and shadows for my inattention to the vague and unqualified as i excel and office my way forward in the world to just to bring it to a swift stop in a few months time. heaven forbid i stick with something longer than a song.
we're building our world on macaroni and cheese with a little taste of target shopping sprees. we take our sunday mornings with a bit of pleasure and plenty of breakfasts.
and we've nothing to be ashamed of so far.
This is what happens when closed minds try to close doors.