Quarantine Style

dear spydr…

well, my love. it has been a pretty minute since i wrote. i have been doing myself (and you) a disservice by keeping my words and thoughts to myself, and i will fix that. it isn’t like i’ve kept you in the dark, naturally – this is more for me than for you. i feel like we speak (or at least i talk to you) every day. sometimes every moment.

while it’s true that i have never lost anyone before you who meant to me what you do/did, i feel like this grieving in quarantine thing is a lot different than grieving in the real world as we knew it. whereas out and about in the land, i’d have access to people, and places, and friends, and we could gather and commisserate, now, we are all stuck either working, or at home. there’s no going to the bar to distract ourselves. there’s no hitting a concert to enjoy our favorite artists. nothing. there’s nothing but time to think. and go through the process of grief. getting to the point where i don’t cry every time i say or even think your name (…many times, but not every time…) did not take very long, compared to what i sort of expected. other people saying your name to me…well. that’s still a struggle. that is usually a blindside, and when it is, i can’t help it. the water works start. they do tend to pass more quickly than they did, though. progress. i’ll take it.

you have been gone for 65 days now. your 61st birthday would have been yesterday. did you hear us singing to you?

i thought i had so much to say, but i find myself sitting here, sad. maybe i’ve said all i can for now, here. truth is, i don’t want to be sitting here, in this place, typing on this computer, “talking” to you this way. what i really want is to be back at 610 NE 11th ave, on the couch with our feet up, laying on you while we watch some god-awful flick and play with each other’s hands and hair and skin. i miss your hugs, and your kisses, and just the way your hand felt on my arm, or my neck, or my leg. some moments, i’d give anything to feel just the weight of that again. and some moments, i almost can. sigh.

you know, babe, most times, this journaling makes me feel better, but for whatever reason, it is not today. i think i’m going to go on and “call it.” i’ll keep trying…but i’m sure we’ll be on the same page later. is it weird that sometimes i would swear you were answering me? i can hear you calling me your sugarz, i can feel you smile, i can hear you breathing next to me sometimes. it’s like the most pleasant of hauntings…

okay. i’m going. i love you. i miss you so fucking much, sometimes i swear it’s making me crazy. (…admitting that is when the waterworks REALLY start.)

lolak…

…your sugarz