The year mark approaches. And a year ago at this time, this is where we were:
And I can still be there. I can still, in my head, go through the motions of emptying his poop drain, of massaging his legs, of turning him over to clean him. I can still feel the stubble of his near-bare head against my kiss. I have that tattoo on my back now, forever. I have what it was like to touch him imprinted on my fingers. He had a mole in his groin that I would see every time I rubbed the top of his thigh. Before I was willing to give in to the fact that he was going to die, I’d think, we have to get that removed once he gets better, just in case. I can still see the movement of his lips as he struggled to whisper, “You’re gonna be fine.” I’m still here, thinking about him and how he’s gone, replaying memories – is that fine? I worked at both of my jobs today. I have so many people who love me. Before, I could only read books I’d already read and see movies I’d already seen because I couldn’t really pay attention to new plot points, but I went to the movies twice in the past two weeks and I’m three-fourths of the way through a new book I really love.
The year mark won’t signify THE DAY CLARK DIED to me as much as it represents what’s happened during that time, and how I’ve handled it, and what I’m going to do to make the next year better. And how I will honor him constantly in the way I act, react and feel.
The daily part of it all boils down to how much I miss him with my every ounce, and how it’s harder and not easier, and how that needs to be okay. Life is short, and I don’t want to waste any time, but by missing him and mourning him and wishing he was here, I’m not betraying that.
Today I’ll fret about getting in time at the gym, or money, or fitting in a date with a friend I haven’t seen in a while. And for ten minutes, I won’t think about this year or our fight. And when I remember, it’s like looking in the mirror one morning and suddenly realizing you need a haircut. Like, when has my hair had time to grow this much? I look at myself so many times a day. How could I forget this constant for these ten minutes? And where is the balance? When will I find it?