Your little family

Coming home is lonely. It’s just me and Kitty cat now.

When one of us was away, Kitty was with whomever stayed home. When I was gone you always told me that you and Kitty missed me. You sent me photos of the two of you. I did the same for you when you were gone.

You told me how happy you were the day you heard me ask the cat if she missed Papa, referring to your return from being away.  You loved that I referred to you as her Papa. You used to smile at the three of us cuddled together of the sofa or bed and say, “We are all here, our little family.” I couldn’t have wanted anything more. I didn’t. You commented once on how rich we were, rich with joy and love and contentment and anticipation for a long and wonderful future together. I agreed.

I used to walk in the door and be greeted by your smile and then your arms. Now Kitty greets me and looks for you. Sometimes I cry so hard my knees buckle and I don’t even make it to the sofa to lay down, where I grip a pillow so hard I think I will tear it.

It’s just me and Kitty cat now – your little family misses you.

Photo 27-02-2017, 21 14 41

Photo 18-04-2017, 23 58 41

I miss…

I miss your hands, the way your wrapped your fingers in mine. I miss hooking my arm into yours as we walk down the street. I miss our long chats at dinner every night, talking about everything under the sun. I miss your excitement when we solidified a travel plan. I miss your “bon dia” texts every morning, without fail, when you arrived at work, and all the long spontaneous outbursts of love and commitment you would send over text as the feelings grabbed you.

You told me often that you thought your heart would burst with love and happiness. I miss your gaze as we sat across from each other at a table, stood in the sea together with our arms around each other, sat on a bench or the sand somewhere, lay side by side.  You would hold my eyes with yours and look so deeply into them. You once said you could see my soul, who I really am through my eyes. I gave them to you, I let you in.

I miss that connection, miss how we didn’t even have to say a word to know what the other was thinking. I miss surprising you with notes or meals left in the fridge or little purchases of favorite things or a chore done for you. I miss your deep gratitude at every surprise. I miss your surprises for me, you made such efforts to arrange surprise excursions- I loved all of them.

I miss how you were always singing and making up funny lyrics to popular songs, or just humming a tune to whatever activity we were doing. I miss teaching each other about our respective popular culture, like the time I showed you where the Sanford and Son tune you were singing originally came from, even though you heard it on the Simpsons. I miss your clever responses and super quick wit. I miss your desire to make others laugh, to feel good, to feel loved.

I miss our  slow and steady approach to our future together, I miss how the ideas crept into our daily life, and how we both welcomed them like lovely pets when they arrived. Like the time shopping in Bauhuas when I commented on a gorgeous bathtub. I said, “I want to have one of those in the house we will have together some day.” And you turned to me and smiled so big. And from then on we spoke of “our house.” And then we started to look for it. We had just gone to see the first one 4 days before you died.

I miss our conversations. We never ran out of things to say.  Every conversation opened more doors and more possibilities and created more and deeper connections between us and between the world and us (or US as you would emphasize.) I miss your excitement over US and how you admired me, because I so admired you -your drive, your mind, your love of life and your love for your friends and family.

Being together was enough. I miss how we didn’t have to do anything to be content and enjoy our time. But we also delighted in doing things together, new and old. We couldn’t wait to experience new things together. Watching you in situations I had not experienced with you yet was always a gift, because they showed me new parts of you and it was always wonderful. You were so resourceful. You loved my practicality and I loved your decisiveness.

I miss looking at you when you didn’t know I was. I miss observing how you carried yourself in different situations, the way your voice and posture changed, which language you chose to speak, if you squared your shoulders or relaxed them. If you spoke softly or directly. I miss catching you looking at me. I miss the butterflies I would still get in my stomach when I saw you after being away. I miss you telling me about your butterflies too. I miss you asking me to repeat something just so you could watch my lips form the words again. I miss you interrupting me to tell me you loved me.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

You are worth it

This pain. The waves of it that wrack me at night until I can no longer take a breath and my body shakes. That makes my knees buckle. That stops my tongue in my mouth and the thoughts in my head. That makes a future seem impossible. That feels like it will kill me. That I thought would actually kill me, and maybe almost did.

You were worth every single moment of it.