Last night my heart yearned for you and I guess I’ve never quite felt your absence more than I do right now. Mostly because I don’t have anyone in close proximity to me that I can simply call and talk to anymore. Not just about pointless things but the deeper, trivial stuff; the stuff I think I’m finally willing to share.
Like how I don’t see a future for myself and that frightens me.
How I don’t have a constant ray of sunshine to light this relentless darkness. My sidekick certainly illuminates this obscurity but under my parents roof she’s not permitted indoors so it remains dark for most hours of the day.
And how I don’t physically have someone who is always smiling and positive; even if they disagree with you because they have a way of gently advising you and all without being so forceful.
And that was you.
You were always there Maria.
And while I may have one or two supportive individuals in my life, they are too far to truly comfort. Words on a screen can do very little when all one craves is a comforting and protective embrace from all that hurt.
I saw you virtually everyday for twenty four years. You were always interested in my frivolities. We shared a love for the sartorial. Something I can no longer indulge in. Something I can’t share with my mother because it’s constantly met with disapproval.
But you loved going through my closet and hearing me talk about which outfit was to be worn to which event. Most of all I miss the feeble way you’d screw up your face when you saw something you thought was utterly ridiculous. Like a frayed hemline, or a top with it’s seams exposed. But you’d still smile along with me, revel in my joy over something that did not live up to your conservative tastes because you understood what it meant to love unconditionally.
It’s nights like these when I think of what I once had and don’t have now.
And I can’t help but contemplate those what if’s.
Like what if I had moved in with you when I was nineteen after my parents refused to sign as guarantor for my approved mortgage application? If I’d taken Liz’s advice and moved in with you instead? Screw feeling like a grand inconvenience and burden.
Maybe things would be different.
Maybe in me moving in with you you would have eaten better and not developed cancer. Maybe the company my sidekick and I provided would have kept the dementia, Alzheimer’s and depression at bay. Maybe you’d still be with us today. With me, listening to this newfound direction in life. Interested in my blogging journey despite not fully comprehending the ins and outs. But you’d still approve and support because that was the kind of person you were.
And just maybe I wouldn’t feel so terribly companionless because we’d have each other.