This too shall pass.

I just got the oddest urge to ask Chris if he knew he was dying before he was actually told he was dying. One thing about the death of a loved one is that the feeling that the person is still reachable…by phone, by e-mail…never really goes away.

There are so many things I would ask him if I could. Did he know? Was he hiding truths from me and Bonnie? How did he survive fourteen months if he knew the outcome? Did he love me? Does he still love me? Does he know my pain in the way that a spirit can know the pain of others without actually feeling that pain?

My dating life has been very fun for the past couple of months. I wonder if my rediscovered feelings of joy in the realm of romance have anything to do with the recent return of my memories of the hospital and from Christmas Day, on.

Monday evening, on my way to pick up my car from the garage, I remembered something Chris used to do to me. I’m not the most focused person, especially when I’m having fun with my friends. Completely losing track of where I’m going and/or what I’m doing is not out of the ordinary for me. If Chris and I were walking and talking, on the street, in the supermarket or elsewhere, and I forgot myself, I would quite often walk right past our target destination, yip-yapping the entire time. Chris never said a word. Without missing a beat, he simply placed both hands on my upper arms and turned my body in the direction I should be heading, placing me back on track. Also without missing a beat, I always simply said, “Thanks.” Nothing lost.

I remembered that about us and then my immediate task became choking back the surge of grief rising in me like a flash flood.

I arrived at the garage, only to be told my car wasn’t ready, yet, and then walked the fifteen minutes home concentrating to keep my breakdown at bay. Once inside, I let go and didn’t catch hold of myself again for two hours, when my mechanic called to tell me my car was ready.

My co-worker, Marc, who looks, sounds, talks and could be a 99% personality carbon-copy of my Chris told me he feels “smooshy” about me. Chris used that word all the time. In fact, for a short while, my nickname was Smoosher and then it became Smoosh. With no knowledge of my past nicknames, Marc just IMd me, saying he would call me “Smoosh” from now on. Seeing his message appear on my computer screen made me feel like the message came from Chris. Same demeanor, same creativity, same everything.

Yesterday, I became very dizzy at work, to the point that I couldn't walk down the hallway. I assumed I was experiencing an anxiety attack, so I just drank some water and willed it gone.

I’m fragile, again. Happy, no less, but very fragile. It’s okay. This too shall pass.