Howard

Chris’ father, Howard, is very sick. He has congestive heart failure and emphysema and he was just told that he has anywhere from one day to six months to live. Howard is going to be dead.

I never had much of a relationship with Howard, but Chris was crazy about him. He never exactly said it, but I could tell by the half of the phone conversation I could hear that they really enjoyed each other. Chris was like Howard in so many ways, both of them quiet, sweet, funny. Howard always reminded me of Chris in so many ways. I haven’t seen or spoken with him since Chris died. I had thought about calling him afterwards, but never quite mustered up the courage to pick up the phone and dial his number.

Bonnie thinks Howard gave up after Chris died. Chris meant so much to him. His boy. She also believes that Howard lived vicariously through Chris. I think so, too.

Howard’s impending death has got my already-in-progress grief rising up again. I have heard that happens and now I know. I’m sad. So much has changed since Chris was diagnosed and it just keeps changing and changing. There really doesn’t seem to be any stability anymore. I don’t think it exists as anything more than an illusion we, as humans, hold onto so we don’t freak out. Everything is vanishing before my eyes. The man who created my man is not going to be here anymore.

Chris is gone. Howard will be gone. The house Beth lived in when I first met his family at the twins’ 1st birthday party is no longer her home. his truck is gone, the apartment he lived in when I met him, his smile, that voice, his aspirations, Johnny Damon and my sense of who the hell I am. Gone.

I think the fog is back. It’s milder this time, but it’s definitely back.

I want to know if Howard is going to see Chris as he is dying and if he’s going to go with him and be where Chris is. I want to go and be there too.

In some strange, bizarre way, I’m envious of Howard.