“You mean the world to me, but I think you know that already.” I only allow myself to listen to your voicemails maybe twice a year. I started saving them because I didn’t think I’d have enough time with you. Even then, I thought I had more time than I got. I remember crying while talking about how I didn’t know how to plan a wedding in case you were too sick. Or how I told you to wait until I was at least 25 for you to start bothering me for grandkids. We never got the chance. I never got to ask you how the hell you live your life and make sure your kid turns out okay. You weren’t there to talk me through buying a house and to tell me everything was going to be okay, and to just stop worrying, and to remind me I have always wanted to live next to a body of water. I never got the chance to bring you back to Misquamicut Beach. I never got the chance to do a lot of things.
I lived my life in constant anxiety and fear that I was going to lose you, and I knew I was never going to be ready. I was scared of every phone call and text that came after a certain time in the night. I was always on call whenever I had a job, just in case you needed me. I was told I shouldn’t live my life like that. Which I guess is easier to say to someone when you have no idea what it’s like. I had dreams of moving away, but other things fell into place and kept me here. I didn’t know it then, but that’s because I needed to be here. I had dreams of doing something after college that would have made me leave, but I knew I couldn’t. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was always waiting to get that phone call. And then one day, I got the phone call. I got in the car to see you one last time. I held your hand for the last time. I kissed your forehead for the last time. I said goodbye for the last time.
I lost you 2 years ago. 2 years. 730 days. 17,520 hours. 1,051,200 minutes. 63,072,000 seconds. Without you. I woke up in the middle of a sobbing scream this morning. I felt it in my chest. I gripped my hands together and tried to make it stop, but I couldn’t. I fell back asleep because I didn’t want to deal with it yet. I knew what was waiting when I woke up this morning. Emptiness. Thinking about all the things I would have done with you in the past 2 years. All the things I would have told you. All the things you would have told me. All the time missed. All the time that has passed with me here, and you gone.
I know I shared a moment with you last weekend. It was subtle but I got goosebumps in the car as I was driving alone to the store. And I just got this overwhelming feeling that you were sitting in the seat next to me. I took a deep breath and I hadn’t realized how much I needed that. It’s like I have been holding my breath for such a long time. I smiled. And I kept right on singing along because that’s what we would have been doing if you were still here physically.
I don’t talk out loud to you often, and I am going to try to change that this year. Every time I get stuck I hear your voice. You always pushed me to be my best self. My most selfless self. My most badass self. My most independent self. You taught me unconditional love. You taught me strength. You taught me courage. You taught me to be me. 2 years doesn’t seem like a long time, but it’s almost as if a lifetime has passed. Because it has. Because a new life started for me the day you had to go. I fucking miss you. You mean the world to me, but I think you know that already”.