Through

Twenty minutes ago I walked through my door, dropped my bag, umbrella and keys on the floor, slowly and defeatedly walked to the couch and sat down. I have been sitting here sobbing ever since, still cloaked in my new coat, hat and scarf.

Tonight’s tears are different than usual, but familiar nonetheless. I feel defeated, the way I felt when I learned that cancer had won and that my Creejie was going to die and there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening.

I’m tired.

Remember, yesterday, when I said that the strangest things can stop me dead in my tracks? Well, I read today and it was really scary. I have been coming to work since the end of January and every day lots of people distract me, make me laugh and engage me, taking my mind off of Chris. That just happens. I get busy and become engrossed in what I’m doing and before I know it, the day is gone and I haven’t thought about him for hours. I have not felt much guilt over it since it is work and I am not really enjoying myself, anyway, so not thinking about Chris is not exactly due to the fact that I'm having enourmous amounts of fun.

Reading, today, was really scary because it was my first experience deciding to not think about Chris. I deliberately picked up my book, opened it, and escaped into a world of mystery and intrigue and I loved it. I do love it. It scares me, though. I’m saying good-bye, or starting to, anyway. My reluctance to do that surprises me. Whether I learn to say good-bye, or not, Chris is gone.

I want a hug from every man I have ever come into contact with. That’s how I feel right now. A hug would reallly sit well with me right about now. But, fuck it. Who cares? A hug from every man I have ever come into contact with could never make me feel better about never being able to hug Chris again, except for in my dreams sometimes.

I have said it before, this weather is going to do me in. The air is beginning to feel the same raw coldness as when Chris was dying. The year-one circle is coming to a close.

I walked home from the station in the cold rain, stepping on wet leaves, feeling the wind on my face and looking down my barren, seemingly uninhabited street. Every sight I see now is a sight I do not share with Chris. He has never seen what I saw tonight. The scene was downright poetic, the darkness, the trees wet with rain, the lack of color and the very mood of the evening. Somber as it may seem, I find it beautiful. Welcoming. I am on the threshold of darkness and I am not going to stop myself from walking into the deepest grief-scape.

There is a "through it". I know there is, and I'm going to get there if I have to walk through Chris' death over and over again.

If Chris was alive tonight, he would have listened to my rantings about the sights, the mood and the trees.

And he, for the umpteenth-hundredth time, would have called me a little fagot.

And I would have kissed him in a way I never kissed anyone else I have ever known.