I Swear You Will Be Fine

Even though it has been a while since, I find it really difficult to think about that night. I find it impossible, actually. I think I have just suppressed the thought of it so well that every time the thought of how you passed and the days that followed comes up, I just push it away completely. I just cannot bear to think about it. I know that that’s not healthy, and I can hear you say, “Sha, that’s not good. You know you can’t do that. You know you shouldn’t compartmentalize or suppress your thoughts. Don’t we learn this at school…” (I know this because you have said this to me before.) But I really just can’t do it. Back then, I thought I’d get to processing it eventually, but now I’m thinking maybe I never will. And that’s okay, right? If I just don’t think about that thought for the rest of my life?

I think a huge part of me can’t bear to think about it because I don’t think I can ever come to terms with it. I won’t ever understand how that could have happened, how you’re not physically here now. Maybe it’s because your birthday’s coming up, but it just feels like things are getting harder and harder. “I hope you’re still watching over us, spending time with us.” Those are thoughts I try to think of when that specific thought comes up. I try to tell myself to focus on the present, that you’re still here, that I can still talk to you. That helps a little. Sometimes I wonder if this is how you felt. “That thought” for you must have been very different. It must have been harder, more persistent. It must have been what took you in the end. Maybe spending time with us and filling your days with distractions helped you push that thought away for as long as you did. And now I’m doing the same. Sometimes I get caught thinking about that thought, and I wonder if it would have helped if I had told you not to put me through this grief. Would you have stayed for a while longer if I had said to you, “Please don’t go so I don’t have to grieve like this. Please don’t become a statistic. Please don’t make us live like that”? When the rational side of me momentarily takes over, I dissect the details of that night and nights before. And I know I have begged you to stay. More than once. In many ways. But those didn’t work too.

A few months ago, we were talking and laughing while walking to your place. The sun was blazing, and I had no umbrella because I’d left mine at your house. There were bees everywhere, and you were making fun of me for putting my head down in an attempt to avoid the sun and covering my ears to avoid the buzzing of the bees. Who would have thought that a couple of months later, I’d be walking to your house alone, down the same bee-filled path, listening to your singing in my headphones instead of talking and laughing with you? I use my umbrella now because I don’t get so busy talking to you that I leave it at your house. I don’t cover my ears anymore because I play your singing in my headphones and that blocks out the bees. But I’d very much rather forget my umbrella, hear the incessant buzzing, and be mildly annoyed at the sun and the bees and the trees and nature. Because at least I’d be too busy smiling way too much with you to actually be bothered.

I have a pair of light pink shoes that I wore for my birthday dinner you planned. Every time I see those shoes, I think back to that night and how much fun we had (It’s a bit too painful to recount the details now, so I think I’ll only write about it at the end of the year). When we had that dinner, I looked down at my shoes and thought about how much life has changed for the better. I thought about how the last time I wore those shoes, I was on a field trip with my class of kids. Although working with kids was one of my only sources of joy back then, I was not happy with how life had turned out. Wearing that same pair of shoes with you at dinner made me think “Ah yes, life is good now.” The other day, I wore them to learn driving. I looked down and thought again about how different things are now. I couldn’t even describe how happy I was with you – there were no words big enough to describe how good I felt with you, how much love we have in our relationship. Now I can’t even describe what life is like – no words are painful enough. Who would have thought that a couple of months after that dinner, I’d be wearing the same pair of shoes, learning driving to fill up my time because my boyfriend passed and I can’t bear to be home alone?

Who would’ve thought that we’d be where we are now?

At least I saw a heart-shaped leaf on the ground the other day. I picked it up and placed it in our scrapbook – the one I started for us to hold all our memories. At least our love didn’t and won’t fade away. At least I can still talk to you and feel you here. At least I still have you and all the people you love the most. At least there’s that.

I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha