Eight long years. It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet when I allow myself to be vulnerable, to take down the walls surrounding the pain that is the memory of losing you, I relive that moment again and again throughout eternity, the emotion never losing its edge. They still tell me it wasn’t my fault. They still tell me I made the right choice; to end your suffering. Yet “they” weren’t there in the end, as I held you, looking eye to eye, tears streaming down my face, my voice hoarse as I cried out my anguish. Words wouldn’t form then; they hardly form now, yet I will never forget your visage as you slowly passed from this life – you forgave me.
I don’t know if I will ever forgive myself.
I still talk to you even though you are gone. As life goes through change and challenge, I often miss your presence, or your support. I recently sold the home we spent your final years in; it was one of the most difficult things I can ever remember doing; not the act itself obviously, but overcoming the torrent of nostalgia of all we did there together. I like to believe your scent was still in the carpets, the furniture. The house was still a home because your essence lingered there. It was my final way of holding onto you. And now that’s gone.
The ring I had engraved upon your death is still on my right hand, and every morning it is still kissed by my lips. You are never far from my heart, from my thoughts.
This last year has been more challenging than any I have faced. I’ve made so many bad decisions and endured the consequences thereof. They say that is how we grow, that we are only given what we can endure. “They” again. I’m so sick of them.
On the one hand, I do like to be grateful for the hardships. I like to think in my mind that it is better for my strong spirit to shoulder the burdens I face than to have them fall on someone that may collapse under the burden. Truth be told, it’s hard to remain optimistic during those times when I feel I may be the one crushed under the weight of turmoil.
I’ve felt very isolated, very alone. I’ve allowed the few that have been close to me over the years fall to the wayside through my poor choices. It’s a downward spiral, a self-fulfilling prophecy, an open well of despair that many do not escape from.
Thankfully, the one or two that have remained close would not allow me to push them away, not allow me to close myself off in bleak darkness. Because of them, because of you, I’ve started making better choices. I’ve started having a better outlook. I’ve become kind again; compassionate. I’ve started making the time to cultivate those withered relationships anew in the hopes they will blossom and flourish.
I’ve been reaching out for help. I am not an island, even though you’re gone. I have hope again.
I will never be whole without you. You are that missing piece that cannot be replaced. You were always such a good boy. I strive to be a good man. To honour you. To honour myself.
I miss you so damn much.