I relive our last week again and again.
Every single week is a count-down. Every Monday is that Monday, the day you came home from Colorado. The day I left work to pick you up at the airport, even though you insisted you would be fine to walk, with your orange backpack and new Tevas, happy to be walking. Every Monday is your first Monday back, going to dinner. You are so excited to see me.
We sit together on the wooden bench, you showing me photos on your phone: here is the place where we stopped to look out at the mountains below. Here is a shot of the cabin where I stayed. Here is the old truck they used to drive around the ranch. And look, babe: I knew you’d appreciate this one – look, it’s a mummified antelope. It’s been dead in the desert so long. I knew you’d want to see the bones.
I live this every week. Every week the countdown. Every time we touch. Every time we talk. Every day, the last day. Not knowing anything except us and love and sunshine, and our plans, and what we expect to come.
click here to read the rest of this post in its original location on the Manifest-Station.
This is the first post of yours I ever read. I can’t imagine having written it out like this (only I can imagine having written it out like this, just a little differently)… but I am so grateful you did, because this post is how I found you and everything you offer: every blog and email and writing group and tweet. I just wanted to tell you that… because this post is something that is such a clear turning point in my life and this last year would have been very different if I had never read this.
so glad to hear that.
I relive the moments of the last weekend that your were at the Med Center, the hope that you would make it to rehabilitation; however, being told you would not come out of there as I had envisioned. Then there are the last 3-days of watching slip further & further away. You looking at me, as you softly patted my head, telling me that I was your best friend, that you would miss & that you would love me forever. 7:02a on July 28th, 2015 you were gone. Every Friday afternoon I look at the clock & start to think what do I need to pack for my weekend at your place, then a slow black cloud comes over me, there is no bag packing, there are no more 40 miles drives to see you, there are no more weekends spent with you & your son, all gone. Each & every weekend I have to come to terms that I won’t be seeing you, which leads me back to the last 3-days you were alive, which then leads me to back you being in he hospital & to where it all started in June. I relive our moments backwards & forwards.
I am doing this today, I am thinking we had gone for a walk..we had a good day. I didn’t know we only had 4 days left. Four days to talk, four days to look into your eyes..4 days to say all we wanted and needed to say..the last day of your life you telling me you will love me forever.
Dear Megan, I love the way you write. It makes me feel just the tiniest bit less alone… Thank you for that!
How many times I relive those last days… Our anniversary on Thursday just three days before the day you died, how you cooked for me and bought my favorite ice-cream, how we cuddled on the couch and slept together for the last time… That Friday your brother told us that his girlfriend is pregnant. How happy you were and how you said to me “and now it`s our turn to make a baby”. That Saturday when my parents came to visit and we talked about our life and the many plans we had for our future together. How happy we were, how innocent and full of love and life… That Sunday we drove to the starting line of the half marathon… our last kiss, our last goodbye… and I didn`t know… How much I wish I would have known… How much I wish we could have said goodbye…