This story on Medium moved me, shook me from a slumber. It was the eruption I needed to shake up my perspective, and remind me that life takes work. I’ve been rather tired from it lately, life, that is. Not the kind of tired that you all need to worry about me. Just a little defeated, and exhausted from having to do it all.
And angry. So damn angry about it all. Losing my best friend. Losing the one person who loved me unconditionally, even the parts that annoyed him. The person who could finish my sentences. The person who met me as a kid, and watched me grow into a woman. Into the mother of his children. Into his wife. Yes, in that order.
The unfairness of our daughters never knowing how funny, brilliant, and kind their father was from the sheer act of being with him, not just the stories and memories I share infuriates me. And for the world losing one more good person when so many shitty ones are graced with the gift of life. It’s a naive, childlike reaction, but one I feel nonetheless.
But I do know this, even if it doesn’t always seem evident to myself or the outside world. I know there is another unconditional love in my life. It’s different from the one I once knew. We are vastly different, for as much as our thoughtfulness, kindness, and ability to protectively shrink into our own skins is distinctly the same. But different is okay, both in people, and in love. I keep trying to remember that, even though the energy it takes to start over can often be exhausting.
I live between two worlds, the emotional jetlag overwhelming. And yet, I’m not ready to relinquish my dual citizenship. I may never be, and why should I? Can I not move forward with one hand being held invisibly, and the other clasped with a warm, loving, human grasp? Guardians on each side, holding me up when the weight of it all feels too much.
I’m not really sure why he loves me, but I know he does. And I know I really do love him. All it takes is one look in his eyes. It sends tickles to my stomach, the way I felt when I first saw a photo of him. The butterfly effect is what I call it. He tells me not to worry; it’ll all be fine, he says. It’s life, the intrinsically precarious nature of it all, not him, that scares the hell out of me.