Category: past


I remember

I sat next to his hospital bed, holding his hand in mine. Looking it over and thinking about bringing him hand lotion the next day. I could help his dry hands heal at least.

“I want to invent something.” He said.

Squeezing his hand, I ask, “What would you invent?”

“I don’t know. Something. Something that would take care of you for the rest of your life.”

I smile and look from his hand to him. “Oh yea? What about you?”

He smiles at me. “Something to take care of us for the rest of our lives.”

real

Just the memories are too much sometimes. Like bad dreams that can crush me for extended periods of time until I find my way to block them out again. Push them back and go back to being ok.
The look of his eyes fluttering to figure things out, while he’s restrained to a hospital bed with machines beeping around him. Drugged into a stupor for his own good, so he doesn’t hurt himself further. The tube down his throat cutting off his communication, but keeping him alive.
And as I was just told not to say anything to upset him in this state, the first thing I say to him is “Everything is going to be ok.”
Of course! Because hearing that wouldn’t make him think of something being wrong.
“Everything is going to be ok.”
All I could think to say. Telling him that I loved him so much. Kissing him on the forehead. Trying so hard not to be panicked. To look panicked. Show no signs of issue over how fragile and broken he looks.
The words echoing in my mind from a few nights before when I am told, “They’re not sure he’s going to make it.”Waking up every hour on the hour because I didn’t want to fall asleep and to wake up to find out he wasn’t in this world anymore.
Days later, after surgeries, he’s starting to improve and can’t remember things. I’m barred from seeing him. Making mix cds of songs I hope would jog his memory and hoping they reach him when I can’t.
Even though his memory is a complete mess and he ignores my presence a majority of the time I’m there for that visit I begged for, he turns to me and asks me why I didn’t bring the cds to him myself. Taking me aback because I think he doesn’t remember me at all.
Most days now, I am truly fine. But sometimes these filter back to me. Among so many other memories. In flashes. In nightmares. In dreams.
I come back to this graveyard of social media to air them because I feel it’s where no one will ever look.
I loved him more than anything in this world. So much so that I was willing to follow him into the worst places just to try to protect him in the best ways I knew how.
I may have made mistakes along the way. No question.
But it’s what you do when you love someone, right?? You just do it.
Why these particular memories stick out for me over anything from high school, any words in the letters, our time while he was home, or all those visits to prisons… I can only guess it’s because these fresher memories also include some of my worst fears I could have ever imagined.
Hospitals. Dying. Losing him.
The beeping machines…. I had gotten so use to them by the time he decided we were done. They ring louder to me sometimes than the sound of slot machines (which I had much time to have etched in my brain as well).
Him finally waking up and remembering me, asking for me, and the first thing he tells me is that I look bigger, when in reality, I hadn’t eating much in weeks out of terrified worry. Soup. I could hold down soup. He called me fat.
Dick.
So you see, while I know how better off I am without him in my life, because god knows he made me so tired all the time. There is this place inside me that still cracks a little when these haunting memories sneak up on me.
It makes me wonder if I’m truly broken.
Afraid to have to go through all of this with the next guy. When really, most guys, probably won’t send me through hell and back.
And while I wish this other guy, the one I said “Umm.” to, would give me more than a one to two word message back. He might be better off without me. Because what if I was torturing him in almost the same way.
Granted, I didn’t almost die.
But I was careless with his feelings. Telling myself that he couldn’t possibly have feelings for me when in the back of my mind…. I knew. And I said “Umm.” in response. (Among some of things that certainly didn’t amount to an “I feel the same way” response.)
When really he was the first person since that everything just felt right about. Things clicked. He seemed to get me. To know what I was thinking. Even from miles away.

God how I blew that.

If I had another chance, I wouldn’t blow it again. Now that I know how I feel.

But I won’t be getting that.

Here’s to hoping lightning will strike again.

The August

On that August night, when I got the phone call that he was in the hospital. The words “They don’t know if he’s gonna make it…” hitting me like bricks.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Maybe a combined hour. Because every few minutes I’d wake up in tears, check my phone, look at the clock, squeeze my silly little shark, and cry until I drifted off again.

Minutes later, sometimes seconds, I’d wake up again. And do the entire thing over again.The entire night.

I didn’t want to go to sleep and wake up to news that he wasn’t here anymore. I didn’t want to fall asleep and lose him.

Almost a year later, even with how things turned out for us, I actually feel very lucky. It really all could have been so much worse.

Does time heal?

He’s my ghost.

 

And I hate it!!