Oh two years on and still the pain is amazing and sharp. Right there behind my breast bone, lodged and unmoving. It’s more compartmentalized now. Grief of loss. Missing you. I’ve accepted that I will never see you again, but acceptance is a responsibility, not a panacea. I still want you back, I still imagine going back in time and changing just one thing. Any single thing would have made the difference and you would still be alive. I accept that I cannot change any of those things. I will always have gotten off the phone when I did, I will always have started the walk when I did, the walk would end at that precise moment. 5 seconds earlier and you would have made it safely across the street to see the man who was walking by. 10 seconds later and you would not have even seen the man at all and you would not have run like that.
15 seconds longer on the phone? A few extra minutes to walk an extra block? I don’t know. I cannot change it. I accept that everything moves ever forward.
Tonight, distracted by the pain of today, I cut my finger rather badly. David wrapped it for me. It’s wrapped in the leftover pink medical tape that we got to dress your ear after your surgery. How fitting that such an amazingly painful wound would be dressed in your bandages; that you are still somehow comforting me.
I often try to avoid comparing my relationship to you to that of a parent and a child, but if I’ve learned anything these past few months it’s to own your emotions. You were my heart, my grace, my redemption. You taught me patience and loyalty. From the moment I brought you home, all little and shivering, I wanted to spread wings around you and encompass you within me. I loved you fiercely and viscerally and and more deeply than anything else in my life. This pain I feel is equal to the depths of my love for you.
I miss you, I love you Ghengis