Was surprised today, not in a good way, and totally random. This June it will be 30 years since my soul mate passed, 30 fucking years. So why today, and my brain is spinning with WTFs.
Sure it's Valentines Day, big deal, means nothing to me, never really has. I never had a proper Valentines until I met Don. No boyfriends making grand gestures, no ex husband doing anything but forgetting what day it was. I may have gotten a bunch of flowers a couple of times, but that was it. With Don, it was different, he was a huge romantic, and ended up with me, who was the opposite, and thought it was just another day. Strange how life works.
I still have the gorilla he gave me for our first Valentines, and the weird rabbit he got me for our last from the 7-11 lol. I remember vividly the delivery lady turning up with this basket containing the gorilla, flowers and a pair of see through lacy knickers in a little bottle. She had a huge smile on her face as she handed it over, and I was beyond embarrassed. This was a first for me, had never happened before, and I had no idea how I was supposed to react, and there was the fact I hadn't gotten him anything. To say it was completely alien to me, probably sounds strange, but that was my life before Don.
I have a gorgeous bracelet, delicate lacy gold, that he got me another year. I don't wear it, not anymore, mostly cause it's impossible to do the fuckers up with one hand. But I keep it, safe with all the other things he gave me, with all his love.
So why today, almost 30 years later, after life has moved on, after growing older, have I suddenly found it impossible to just sit there and read a valentines message without getting all teary and wondering what if? Even now, as I type, I'm tearing up, it's fucking ridiculous.
Life has moved on, I no longer expect him to pull up on the Harley, or with his brother in law after work. The kids have all moved out, had kids of their own, well except for 1 lol. I'm older than he ever had a hope of being, and yet, here I sit, tearing up. Life can be a real mother fucker at times.
Maybe it's because so much has been going on the last few years, I haven't really had time to bring up those memories, like I used. It's always easy to remember him, but when your brain is full of other shit, and your heart is aching over a different pain, then something has to get pushed to the side. Something has to sit on the side lines while you deal with all the other shit going on. I thought I was over this, I guess you really don't ever get over the loss, but surely the pain, after 30 years at least, shouldn't cripple you, just because of a certain day on the calendar.
As I said, life has moved on, as it does and as it should. The flashbacks are less frequent, and more about remembering how great it was, the good times, and the fun times, rather than the loss itself. That last memory of his last night, down to the last fucking detail. Although that is still there, it's easier and easier to just skip over it, push it back down, and remember something funny that happened, or how his eyes would sparkle when he told some story about a customer at work. How he would laugh and laugh at the most random things, and how you couldn't help but laugh right along with him. So today, today has been fucked. I didn't want this, I don't need it, and it can fuck right off again.
Time heals all wounds they say, well, no time doesn't heal all wounds. Time can slap on a band aid, it can set a split, but the wounds are there, scars on your very self. Slap some makeup over them, and no one knows, but they are there, and there they remain.
Catch yas
Cathy
