On the tenth anniversary of your passing ...
I thought I'd be doing something else-- twenty-eight things, both big and small to honor your memory; but when I woke up this morning, I was too sad. Sad that it's been a decade since you last touched the air of this world. Sad that so much of my memory hinged on yours. Sad that my best friend, my other half, my soul-mate, is no longer here ... so every plan I made went out the window.
All I could do was sit and cry-- and, something else that I have not been able to do in ten years: I re-read every note of yours that I could find. I re-read the texts and emails I still have access to; and I relived our friendship ... the good and the bad, through the words we wrote one another. And to my supersize, and my misery, I kept forgetting you were gone.
I would get halfway through a note and think "I should call her and tell her what I just read." Or I would revisit an old argument and want to reach out and apologize again. I have spent the last six hours losing you over and over, and now my head hurts from crying, and my eyes feel heavy, my throat aches, and all I want to do is sleep-- because then maybe I'll wake up and realize that this past decade has just been an awful dream.
I want to wake up to another text from you. I want to wake up and see that you've sent me another email. I want to wake up to another note, a letter, a hug, a promise .... because so many times in the notes I just re-read, you promised to always be here for me. You promised we'd be best friends forever. And I know, I know that spiritually--we still are and always will be, and that since you're in my heart-- you will be with me forever, but it's not enough.
A life without your laugh is not enough. A life without our stupid jokes and endless rants and meaningless conversations is not enough. I miss you. I need you here, and I am dreading the fact that in ten more years, I will have spent more time without you than with you.
It's not fair.
None of this is fair.
I read far more than 28 notes today. I recounted dozens and dozens of moments we shared. They weren't little. Nothing about our friendship was little; and now I'm left with much more than a "little" hole in my heart.
Next year, I will go back to doing 28 little things for you; but this year-- I just need to cry.
I miss you, Spo. I love you.
Why aren't you still here?
Why aren't you with me?











