The time past hasn't done much to fill the hole. You are still there, in my thoughts, in my heart. A feeling so clear that I resonate, day in and day out, with an ache like the tone of a bell.

happy birthday

Your message today made me feel a lot of things, none of which are simple.

A shared secret?

An echo of love lost?

A final goodbye?

What were you trying to say?

We were never that good at talking, but I would have liked to hear your voice today, to tell you what's on my mind; to shed a tear and share the loss that I still feel. To make you laugh, to hear you say that you miss me.

same street, cold winter's night

The nights are getting darker, longer. It's how I know it's coming.

My night, the one I have to fight for and accept the apologies of my friends.

It's coming.

But not the same as the years' before.

I haven't been making time for myself for months. Candle burning at both ends, but the work end seems dipped in kerosene.

I tried to go to a party tonight, birthday, not christmas. No one was home, so I walked to mine.

Probably better that way. I wasn't fit for human consumption.

My night, it's coming.

But not like last year's.

Or the year before.

I will be half my father's age. First time ever. If my math is right, the only time ever, in both our lives.

It means something to me. A turning point, a threshold, a date to cross out, marker in hand.

I had meant to do more by now. Nothing specific, just more. More with everything.

I wasn't prepared for doing less.

But here I am, sitting where I was years before, doing pretty much what I was doing years before, daydreaming about what might have been.

The loss feels more acute now.

My bed is cold at night.

The house is quiet.

My stocking is where you put it, last year, untouched, waiting for someone to fill it.

There is something about the stocking.

Your family revels in them. Thinking back, so did mine.

But the one you hung for me, looking at it, my heart sinks.

For a couple of days a year, it held you and your dreams, your hopes for me.

For a couple of days, a year, it held love.

A love and happiness untainted by second thoughts, untainted by pasts not easily forgotten.

It was filled with the kind of love that children feel.

And on this night, two days before my night, I sit and I think about love. Your love.

The love that brought cake to the party room; shared cupcakes and tarantulas underground; handed me a dabber and shared snacks.

The love that warmed me.

That brought a buzzing noise into my head, my heart, every time you were around.

The love that made me feel like things would be ok, even when they weren't.

Five days from now,

I want to find that love,

in my stocking.

"Have you ever had one of those days? You know one where nothing at all monumental happens, but by the end of it, you don't even know who who are any more or what the hell you're doing with your life? It was just a rough day, and the only person I wanted to see at the end of it with was you."

Memories Pt. 39

christmas eve, at home and on the way home

Holidays were always hard. I worked a lot and never got to take time off. You are so connected to your family that you feel pain when you don't get to share with them.

You'd always go up early, a day or two. To bake and cook and help your sister get the house ready. Those two days were the guiltiest I have ever felt. I couldn't leave work, I had to be there, but I felt I should have just walked out and followed you. I wanted to cook and bake for you. You and your family.

It never happened that way. Our holidays were always short and stunted.

Every christmas eve I would drive myself, in the dark, down the highway to join a celebration winding down. An interloper, eating his luke warm plate while everyone looked on nursing their tea and coffee.

But the evening would unfold and I would unwind.

Eventually, everyone would go and we'd drive home.

You'd nod off in the car. All the family, taking care of the kids, sleep would sneak up on you, especially when you stopped moving. Its like you always knew that it was there, chasing you in a never ending game of tag. Only catching you when you stopped.

I would drive, mostly in silence, not wanting to wake you.

Getting home, we'd have to unpack the car. Your family always treated you well. Lots of leftovers and lots of presents.

But we'd be home.

I looked forward to this time. It was only then I really felt our christmas started. I know you gave up a lot to accommodate my christmas.

Never getting to go where you wanted to go. Never getting to spend time off with me.

But christmas eve, that was it for me. That was our family's christmas; when my excitement came out and all my love was found under that tree and nestled in the bottom of your stocking.

You and me,
the cats,
all curled up by the couch,
near the tree,
taking turns opening gifts,
sipping egg nog,
listening to carols,
old and new.

A family with a tradition of its own.

Sure, there was love the rest of the year.

There was a relationship, sometimes good and sometimes not so much.

But christmas eve, christmas eve was when I had a family

"You're really hard not to like"

Something I never understood. It stuck with me from then until now and bothered me for the whole time.

Understandably, there were only three options. Women are women are women.

But I thought I would have had a little support.

Why did no one take up my flag?

Did no one say, "Are you an idiot? He's a great guy. You'd be stupid to look somewhere else."

But I guess there were only three options. They either didn't think that I was any good for you, or they just wanted to be supportive and couldn't tell you what they thought, or they didn't include me in the equation at all.

My friends said everything under the sun; one extreme to the next.

But yours.

What did they say?

Women tend to be supportive, above all else. Decision made, words reinforce.

I can hear it now, "Do what makes you happy. If you are not sure, you should figure it out. etc, etc, etc."

The more I wait, the more I realize something that was clear to me before, but became obscured as time went on.

I am a pretty good person. I have my faults, but on a whole I am worth it. I would make you happy, if you would let me. If the world would let me.

But this isn't about me, which is something none of your friends may have said. I am not the one failing here.

I am just a boy. A boy who tries, everyday, to be better and to take the high road and treat people with kindness and respect. A boy who would make a good husband, a great father and an eternal friend. Someone who is smart, funny, loyal and strong.

Which is how I sit. I am not going to devolve. This is who I am and I am only going to get better, not worse.