Tuesday, August 16, 2016

He begins to feel away from me.

I've known this feeling before. I don't like it. Why is it happening so quickly this time? Is grief so familiar to me now that I don't even need much time to process? Or am I in denial?

His hands. I remember thickish .... like his feet. Hobbit feet, we called them. He could grow hobbit hair, as well. Not surprising that Tolkien was one of his favorite authors.

I vaguely remember the physical space of him as he came through the back sliding door. Usually grinning, and bearing gifts. Thoughtful, sweet gifts from his place of work, Costco. He loved seeing the new things that came into the store. He loved owning and giving the things that came into the store!

My exercise shoes are because of him. My heated blanket in winter. Our kitchen knives.

His first gifts? Nausea and stretch marks. The nausea faded with time. The stretch marks didn't.

I now touch my scarred skin reverently.

Please, help me remember. His hands, his legs, his arms. His smell. His hugs. His laughter.

(Oh, that boy loved cologne. Remember that day at Macy's? We went to pick out earrings for your girlfriend, but we couldn't help stopping at the perfume counter.)

I remember the snarky remark said with a smirk. But also, the serious softness of his eyes that took in so much. That tried to understand. That in the end ... left us lost for awhile.

I open the mp4 file on my desktop. The video begins. And I try to remember.

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