Sunday, August 11, 2013

Growing Old Is A Luxury

It never ceases to amaze me how my mind works.  The things that I think about.  The things that I wonder about.  Tonight I found myself trying to remember a time when TJ kissed me and him having bad breath.  I can't think of one single kiss, out of what has to be hundreds of thousands, when his breath was bad.  I'm sure it must be so and yet I can't remember him tasting anything other than sweet.

I broke down and cried while making myself a salad this afternoon.  I was playing music, singing along, dancing, and doing the dishes just prior.  The last time I can remember doing all of three of those things at once was the night before TJ died.  How incredibly ordinary that Wednesday was.  I probably would have never recalled the evening at all if he hadn't died the next day.  It was so average.  I worked, I debated staying late and decided to go home at a reasonable hour to get in some alone time while TJ was at school.  I came home, did a really fun bhangra workout in the living room- twice.  I showered and turned on a DVR TJ had recorded of actual music videos on MTV.  I turned the volume up so high and was dancing around in the kitchen in my nightgown.  I was singing so loudly, holding up a pan like it was a mirror and fluffing my hair like a movie star; singing into a wooden spoon I was washing by hand.  The front of my nightgown was wet from leaning over the sink.  I was having an incredible time.  So much more than one could ever expect out of a Wednesday night alone.  I heard the garage door open and rushed, half soapy hands not rinsed, to the top of the stairs.  I watched him come around the corner on the landing with his hands full of things.  I'm positive I flashed him the best of my best smiles.  And then he kissed me.  Oh, did he kiss me.  I can't remember what he tasted like that night and it doesn't matter.  I couldn't have been more in love with him if I tried.  I felt dizzy on my feet after he disconnected from my lips.  I actually said "wow" out loud.  I think that was our last kiss.  We always kissed before bed and yet that's not the one I remember from the day before my life changed.  I remember the one that nearly knocked me over with passion and love.  I apologized to him for not having dinner ready.  Said I was a bad wife and thanked him for putting up with me.  He laughed and shrugged his shoulder, tilted his head.  I can still see it.  He started cooking instead and talked all about his day.  I could have listened to him talk for hours.  I remember thinking that.  I didn't understand what he was saying to me- his IRB lingo- and it was the best conversation.

I honestly can't imagine ever being so in love with anyone else.  I'm sure that I will find love again and yet I can't help but wonder if it'll come close to how indescribable my relationship was with TJ.  When I die, will he be the one I'm thinking of?  Who will be by my side then?  I wish it could be TJ.  I hope that my presence was some comfort for him through the horror that was his last moments.  I wonder about a future moment where I tell my children, where I tell my grandchildren about the first man I was ever in love with.  Will they look up at me with wonder and awe as I try to explain the depth and breadth of our time together?  Will it blow their minds to know that their father, their grandfather wasn't the first?  I'll show them a picture.  A picture of the man who died so that they could be born.  My God.