I cannot help but to somehow believe that you orchestrated this cover. Your favorite song by your favorite band? Why are you not here to hear this right now? This song was my trigger tonight, and I broke. My trigger to a long-time coming mind-numbing grief attack on the shower floor pressing your flight badge that still smells like jet fuel against my lips. I’ve become so skilled at internalizing pain to keep others at bay that I could teach it, but struggling daily with survivor’s guilt keeps me in the middle of a road. A road where my past is on one familiar side and my future is on the other, and for some reason I don’t want to leave the level of comfort in the visceral present middle. The bad thing about digging a trench here is that I don’t want to leave it now, no matter how hard life is here.
From the outside looking in, it looks like I’ve moved on and defeated this grief and loss. Let me assure you. There are and will forever be moments where my eyes turn grey and I’m with you in another place and time. Perhaps I’m way too honest, but I cannot describe the level of overwhelming guilt I experience when I’m being held by a man while I’m falling apart over losing and missing you. I’m still fighting the finality and permanence of your death, and I’m not sure that will ever go away. I’m at the crossroads where I’m emotionally ripped to shreds and cannot hide it. Picking out a casket for the person you share your life with is not ever something you want to put yourself in a position to have to ever do again. That is the only way I know how to describe it.
There is this great guy who could not be any more opposite of you in every way. You even look opposite: you with your silky black hair, dark tan skin, brown eyes, tall Southern country charm and him: short, bald, pasty white skin, blue-eyed Yankee. In my head, you are giving him so much crap over being a fixed wing pilot or y’all are swapping stories about the company you both worked for. He has to listen to stories about you all the time. He usually laughs and says how much he would have liked you or how cool you must have been. I met him while I was vehemently scorning someone over HEMS safety. He works in the industry, and his dissertation is on air medical crashes. My love for you I guess in some way kind of led me to him. The most important thing is that I don’t have to apologize to him for honoring you or for still loving you. I don’t hide my bad days anymore to save relationships or the ego of another. I can be open, vulnerable and bear my soul again.
He knows that it’s not a competition. Sometimes I think he’s in awe of how much I love you, even after death. He loves the relationship you had with Haydn and always reminds her of it. I love him for that and for bravely loving me as I stand in the middle of a road battling the guilt of surviving you and trying to live and love again. But, most of all, I love him just because he’s him, just like you were you. Slowly, I’m unapologetically learning to be me and not hide my pain or deny where I’m at.
God it’s been too long since the last time I heard your voice or looked in your eyes. I will do better and be stronger tomorrow I promise. I love you.
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