Are Moments Real When You Lose the Person Who You Shared Them With?

On Christmas, it will have been twenty-one months since you left.

We held hands in the darkness and I knew that this was it. 

I watched the sun inch out of the sky, through those big hospital windows. And I knew, with certainty, that this bright, beautiful sun would rise on me on my own.

The room grew slowly darker, lit only by the salt crystal lamp I’d brought here from our home. “Our” home. But it’s no longer ours, really. No longer home, either, as I would soon discover. I’m still not sure what home is, anymore.

Our shared world flashed before my eyes. So many memories, held only between us. Now mine alone.

Do they even matter? Are moments real when you lose the person who you shared them with? Did all those moments really happen?

I floated around the room with you. We listened to your body breathing. It sounded so painful but you assured me, quietly that it wasn’t. You were okay.

We ushered you forward, just as we birthed little D over here. I closed my eyes and saw you running, running, running. Running with wild abandon, towards the woods. Away from this world and this body, this pain. You were free.

It didn’t feel good. Gosh Bri, we loved each other so fucking much. The pain of separation was so great. It has been the ultimate test of my patience. When will I see you again? And what will it be like? There’s so much left I just don’t know.

But in that hospital room, I thought of none of this. I thought of nothing, really.

I felt your love. The pain. The enormity of it all. The normalcy of it all. The connection between us and all the other lovers who have said farewell like this. I heard you. I heard your breath and then your silence. I felt you. All around me and then, within me.

The pain was gone and also, just beginning. Why was I the one left here? And what will become of me now?

I held your body, staring at you in this new and different way. It wasn’t you anymore, anyways.

I wasn’t scared. Not that night. No, I wasn’t scared.

On Christmas, it will have been twenty-one months since you left. And tonight, if feels like it was just yesterday.