I miss you, Sweetie.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Checking in
Hey, Sweetie.
On Thursday it will be two years since I lost you. How am I doing?
Eh. Let's talk about that later.
The cats are doing OK. I just gave them their monthly dose of flea medicine. It's harder to do that now that you're not here to hold them down. I have to be sneaky and hide the tubes in my pocket and catch them unawares. They resent me for a few minutes, but then I give them kitty treats and all is well again.
The house is still standing. I finally got around to putting up a shed in the back yard to replace the one we tore down. Yeah, I said "we." Even though I did all the work, I still give you credit for coming up with the plan to tie the support beam to the car and pull it down. You really missed your calling. You should've been a demolitions expert.
I had my appendix out in June. I really missed you then. I could've gotten some payback for all the times I filled your water bottles and brought you mac and cheese in bed. I guess I'll have to collect when I see you again someday.
Went to visit your grave a couple of weeks ago. The cousins are keeping it up nicely. Lots of mosquitoes, though. I suppose it keeps the tourists away, though.
OK, you want to know how am I doing? Well, I know I promised you I'd be OK, and I'd say most days I am. But there are times I'm not.
I went out on a date about a year ago, a little after the anniversary of your death. She was nice enough, but she wasn't you. No, that's not fair. It's not that she wasn't you. She just wasn't enough like you. She wasn't as sharp, or as whimsical, or as ..., well, it just wasn't right. I know I told you I'd keep my options open as far as getting involved with someone again, but the idea still seems as absurd to me today as it did when you suggested it. It's still too soon.
I still find myself setting aside time to talk to you. Well, I don't know if it's really you. It just may be the part of you that I carry around with me. We have some conversations, but it's getting harder to hear your voice when I do, so it may be getting to the point where I'm talking more to myself than to you, in which case I'll stop. I can talk to myself anytime.
The days I don't feel OK are mostly the ones where I stop to think about what could have been. I figured by now we would have gone to Ireland, would have gotten you that Mini Cooper, would have started talking about adopting ...
Instead, I'm here, and it's not quite where I planned to be.
But then again, neither are you.
In the grand karmic scale, somebody owes us both big time.
The important thing is I'm still here. Even if it's just to keep the cats fed, I'm still serving a purpose.
And I'm still keeping alive the memory that there once was a beautiful girl who for some crazy reason decided to love this weird guy.
Love you, Cutie.
Tim
On Thursday it will be two years since I lost you. How am I doing?
Eh. Let's talk about that later.
The cats are doing OK. I just gave them their monthly dose of flea medicine. It's harder to do that now that you're not here to hold them down. I have to be sneaky and hide the tubes in my pocket and catch them unawares. They resent me for a few minutes, but then I give them kitty treats and all is well again.
The house is still standing. I finally got around to putting up a shed in the back yard to replace the one we tore down. Yeah, I said "we." Even though I did all the work, I still give you credit for coming up with the plan to tie the support beam to the car and pull it down. You really missed your calling. You should've been a demolitions expert.
I had my appendix out in June. I really missed you then. I could've gotten some payback for all the times I filled your water bottles and brought you mac and cheese in bed. I guess I'll have to collect when I see you again someday.
Went to visit your grave a couple of weeks ago. The cousins are keeping it up nicely. Lots of mosquitoes, though. I suppose it keeps the tourists away, though.
OK, you want to know how am I doing? Well, I know I promised you I'd be OK, and I'd say most days I am. But there are times I'm not.
I went out on a date about a year ago, a little after the anniversary of your death. She was nice enough, but she wasn't you. No, that's not fair. It's not that she wasn't you. She just wasn't enough like you. She wasn't as sharp, or as whimsical, or as ..., well, it just wasn't right. I know I told you I'd keep my options open as far as getting involved with someone again, but the idea still seems as absurd to me today as it did when you suggested it. It's still too soon.
I still find myself setting aside time to talk to you. Well, I don't know if it's really you. It just may be the part of you that I carry around with me. We have some conversations, but it's getting harder to hear your voice when I do, so it may be getting to the point where I'm talking more to myself than to you, in which case I'll stop. I can talk to myself anytime.
The days I don't feel OK are mostly the ones where I stop to think about what could have been. I figured by now we would have gone to Ireland, would have gotten you that Mini Cooper, would have started talking about adopting ...
Instead, I'm here, and it's not quite where I planned to be.
But then again, neither are you.
In the grand karmic scale, somebody owes us both big time.
The important thing is I'm still here. Even if it's just to keep the cats fed, I'm still serving a purpose.
And I'm still keeping alive the memory that there once was a beautiful girl who for some crazy reason decided to love this weird guy.
Love you, Cutie.
Tim
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