Four years ago today I journaled on this day because the day before had been too traumatic for me to think of jotting down even a single a trivial thought. I'm writing again on this day because that held true for yesterday as well. I think of him all the time, but when that specific day comes my mind races with what could have been if only I'd called him or been with him, or perhaps if I'd more strongly voiced my discontent when he told me of his plans to purchase the motorcycle. Yesterday I used work as a distraction, yet played our favorite songs over and over in my car until my eyes stung with yearning. We loved Bone Thugs and one another.
Four years. Who would have thought I'd be waiting this long. Four years ago I was a different person. A person I couldn't imagine being again. I can't help but fantasize of the person I'd be today if he were still "around". I imagine "lonely" would not be in my vocabulary. It is a sad yet honest realization, but surely his constant presence would be taken for granted as losing him would never cross my mind. I'd not have this desperate desire to hear his voice say my name because I would never have known the insurmountable pain surrounding the inability to do so. As for the others in my life, each day that I see them face-to-face further solidifies a most irrational sense of invinsibility and an untouchableness that I've somehow attached to them in a pitiful attempt at shielding what is left of my heart from the idea that I might one day grieve in their absences as well.
As much as I've heard the chliches; "You never miss your water til your well runs dry," or "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone,"; as much as I've been told to live each day as if it were my last, as much as I've learned of the fragility and brevity of life, I still don't think that in a hundred years I could have loved or appreciated him enough to make his not being here any less painful.
For more information on Coma and Waiting visit http://www.waiting.com/