Friday, October 26, 2012
only, I don't know how
It wasn't always so, as it is with every love story. In college I was not okay. The middle of my sophomore year I was a funeral march. Everything was devastating - I stayed in bed for hours and days and hours in a day and months more like, it was foreign to me. The soles of my feet were heavy with pain - why would I want to walk?
And here's the turn around: one night, locked in a study room in the upstairs of the library trying my little heart out to type a Philosophy paper, I called my Nena and cried and cried and cried about everything. I just kept sobbing "I'm so sad" over and over again. She waited until I took a breath (a gasp, a "MAN OVERBOARD" kind of thing) and she said calmly and seriously and full of the softness of a goddamned rose, she said: "pack your bags. I'm coming tonight."
That's the woman who helped build me.
That's the woman who had a major health scare this week - everything is fine, now. But Tuesday I was convinced that every breath I took, every red light I saw on my frantic drive down to her house was going to be forever stayed in my heart as a fucking curse.
Did I mention she's fine now?
She is. And I'm not sure I've ever been so thankful. Because here is the truth: my life is nothing without her joy. Because sharing a bottle of Merlot with her on the north porch in my hometown beats everything. Everything. She is mine and there is no simple way to say it. With her living, I live.
I know you understand.