It’s been nearly a year and I’m surprised to still be here. I swore I’d go after him if he left. But things are complicated.
June 6 will be a year. I know it’s just a day on the calendar but still I feel the weight of its significance. I have to go to the grave, where I’ve had to pay for a granite marker. I don’t think I can bear it but I have to. I haven’t been back since we buried him. Mostly because I pretend he’s around, maybe in another room or maybe in New York, where he lived for so many years.
When no one can hear me, I whisper to him and beg him to come back. Maybe he’ll hear me and change his mind.
I’ll miss him every day for as long as I live. It’s better when I stay in denial.
I wish I could hug him and smell him. I’ve been reading all the email we sent to each other: All the links to things we thought were funny or enlightening or stupid, all the mp3’s he sent me, all our complaints and encouragement. Thank god for email. It’s so full of our relationship. It’s a way to spend time with him. It’s something to treasure.
If I have to keep living, maybe I can do something that Max would be proud of, or maybe I can help with suicide prevention. In the end, even though I know there’s no god or heaven or hell, I know we’ll be together.
Some days are easier than others. I’m still thinking about the Bitter Intellectuals project. Max would love it. We need a url to get started. Just try to bear with me while I work through the bad days. xoxo