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Closure-ish

You died. I couldn’t save you, and you fucking DIED. So obviously I have a savior complex now. It was latent before, subtle; then it kicked into overdrive. The new struggle becomes getting past it. Moving on from it. Dealing with the fact that I could not save you. Couldn’t have. Never had a chance. All that goddamn guilt.

You died, in our bed, on October 17th 2018, sometime in the afternoon. Probably wishing I was there beside you instead of working or out with the dog. Probably asking God “why me, why now?”. And I wasn’t there. I couldn’t save you. And THAT… that fucking kills me. I could spend my entire life trying to right that wrong, and it would never be enough. It would not change the past. It wouldn’t bring you back. All the money and all the friends and all the influence and the all the power in the world, cannot alter that heart breaking, gut wrenching page of history.

And now, as the year of shit hitting the fan draws near to an end, I must actually learn to live with that. To accept it. Radically and wholly. Fearlessly and openly. To fully understand myself, my trauma, and my path to recovery. I still get mad at God. I still hate and distrust most doctors. I still can’t look at penguins or Christmas lights or crystals or even this damn old Macbook, without thinking of you. Or speak to your mother, your brother, your grandma, without a searing blast of nostalgia for what we had and what we lost. But I need to do those things. I need to do them while there is still time. Because, as proven by exactly the reason I write this, time is short, and fleeting. More importantly, I need to FEEL all these things, and not just write them. To let my heart burst, break, bleed, stop, restart, regroup, regrow, and ultimately heal.

Because the only way through this shit, is THROUGH it. Not over it, not around it, not under it or beside it or past it. Through it. One foot in front of the other. Every. Damn. Aching. Painful. Step.

In Kim’s honor, a Grey’s Anatomy pic.

I loved you. I will always love you. And I will be okay. Even without you, I will be okay. You made me the best version of myself that I could be. It’s time I started being that self again. It’s time I honored your memory by re-becoming the man you saw in me, that you loved so unconditionally and so fearlessly. It’s time to get to work.

I will see you again, my angel. But until then… bask in radiant light, sing throughout the heavens, and walk the eternal beaches of paradise.