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.