Confessions

I thought about you today.

I’m not sure why it was so difficult to manage. Maybe it was the flashbacks to the Saturday we said goodbye. Maybe it was being asked what my favorite memory of you was.

Either way I couldn’t stomach it.

You know I’m an open book. You know I don’t usually have an issue expressing what’s on my heart. Why now?

Why couldn’t I verbally express that my favorite memory of you was fishing with Stacy in Lakeland, 2003? We didn’t catch a thing and yet it’s still one of the first moments that comes to mind when asked about you. What about all of the Gator games we used to watch together? 2006 National Championship in your living room sitting on the edge of our seats waiting for the first trophy since the ’90’s. Or the countless times you’d torture me with that nursery rhyme to get me out of bed…I can still hear your voice…

A tisket…a tasket…

I suppose it’s because the only thing I could see in my mind’s eye was your face as they wheeled you into the ICU. I knew it was the last time I’d look you in the eye.

Maybe it’s because the flashbacks still have enough power to knock the wind out of my stomach…leave me breathless. It’s been two years. What’s my problem?

I mean, I’m writing about all of it now, right? I should be able to vocalize all of this but I find writing silently gives me a chance to not be seen.

To not be seen crying.

To not be seen struggling.

To not be seen on the worst days.

To put on a strong face despite not wanting to.

I’ll admit that I don’t struggle anymore like I used to. Time hasn’t healed everything, but I do recognize it’s become easier to live in this altered reality. However, the days I do struggle seem to knock me around pretty well.

As those days come, it’s nice to have a blank space to write on. Some things are better left written and that’s why I’m here. I wish you could see us. I wish you could see the new babies in the family. I wish you could give me relationship advice.

I wish you could sing me that awful nursery rhyme to get me out of bed.

I miss you.

—

If wishes were fishes I know where I’d be
Casting my nets in the dark rolling sea
And if my net’s empty when it comes back to shore,
I’d throw it away and go fishing no more.