I was just dreaming about you
Happy valentine's day everyone. I hope it's a day full of love for you. For me, I don't know what it is. It's hard to believe it's been three years. I don't really feel like it's gotten any easier, George being gone. I wonder if it ever will? I wonder, did I ever really grieve?
What do you call the anniversary of someone's death?
I guess here we call it Valentine's day. I have always liked the idea of everyone celebrating and making love today, silently appreciating it in George's honor, but each year it becomes weirder. It feels more appropriate not to do anything, in a way. Last year I quit smoking. (Holy shit, I just realized it's been a year. Well, well.) I also walked around my neighborhood alone, and fought with my significant other. Now things are less significant, and I am asked out for dinner. Turn, turn, turn.
How do I honor George this year?
I've been thinking a lot about what he would think about my life now, how he would feel about the way things are going, where they have been, my occasional reluctance to jump off the proverbial precipice...as the years wear on it gets harder to figure out what he would say, which things he would be proud of, for which things he would hold quiet disdain. It's almost as if this world keeps getting too complicated for his sage advice. Or have I merely forgotten how simple things can be? Regardless, it would be nice to have a family member whose advice I truly take to heart. Sometimes I just want someone to tell me what to do. But, I don't trust what anyone says.
Last night I had a dream about Shelley. We were walking in New Hampshire; it was snowing. We talked about college -- in a way it felt like we were still there -- and she remembered falling asleep on the couch at Sigma Nu (with you). She told me we were perfect together, and she was gushing, which made me so happy. This morning, on the way to work, it was snowing a little here in the mid-south. While I was stopped at a stoplight I watched it falling on the windshield, the details of the snowflakes microscopic. The feeling was big.
Hi, George.
What do you call the anniversary of someone's death?
I guess here we call it Valentine's day. I have always liked the idea of everyone celebrating and making love today, silently appreciating it in George's honor, but each year it becomes weirder. It feels more appropriate not to do anything, in a way. Last year I quit smoking. (Holy shit, I just realized it's been a year. Well, well.) I also walked around my neighborhood alone, and fought with my significant other. Now things are less significant, and I am asked out for dinner. Turn, turn, turn.
How do I honor George this year?
I've been thinking a lot about what he would think about my life now, how he would feel about the way things are going, where they have been, my occasional reluctance to jump off the proverbial precipice...as the years wear on it gets harder to figure out what he would say, which things he would be proud of, for which things he would hold quiet disdain. It's almost as if this world keeps getting too complicated for his sage advice. Or have I merely forgotten how simple things can be? Regardless, it would be nice to have a family member whose advice I truly take to heart. Sometimes I just want someone to tell me what to do. But, I don't trust what anyone says.
Last night I had a dream about Shelley. We were walking in New Hampshire; it was snowing. We talked about college -- in a way it felt like we were still there -- and she remembered falling asleep on the couch at Sigma Nu (with you). She told me we were perfect together, and she was gushing, which made me so happy. This morning, on the way to work, it was snowing a little here in the mid-south. While I was stopped at a stoplight I watched it falling on the windshield, the details of the snowflakes microscopic. The feeling was big.
Hi, George.