I guess I have less to say than I thought I would. It's been a year since my best friend/would-be husband died. It's always shocking when the anniversary rolls around and it kind of has this "has it been that long already?" sort of feeling involved. I was confused for a while, whether I should blame this person or that person that I never got to say goodbye. It was all my fault, I suppose, for not gathering the courage to actually buy a plane ticket to Little Rock and get on it.
I met him at a Green Day concert. It's strange to look back and realize that I really only spent 4 days with him in person. But they're 4 days I'll never forget. From the free beer, to Union Square, to conversations about the end of the world, to bonding over the loss of our fathers, to drinking a lot of booze and kissing and deciding whether or not it would be a good idea to have sex. We'd decided it wasn't. But when I dropped him off at Newark airport, the thought of never seeing him again wasn't anything that had ever crossed my mind. I guess I always thought there was something bigger than both of us that would bring us together. He promised he'd move to San Francisco, he promised he'd marry me and we'd have kids together. He promised to support me financially. He asked me to come to Arkansas to be with him, he said he'd pay. He said he had plenty of money, that I'd never have to work again. Even typing it out right now it doesn't seem real. But it was, it was so real and I wish so badly that everything would have worked out. And by worked out I mean ended with us together, both alive and cancer-free. I'm glad I didn't do all the things he asked me to and it absolutely kills me to say that and know that it's true. A dead friend is much easier to comprehend then a dead husband.
I still can't believe that it happened. We talked a lot over the next year plus until it just kind of faded in a way. I still thought about him constantly. I guess it wasn't fair to any of my other relationships that I thought about him that way, both as a friend and as more than that. I was so happy to receive a text message from him when he got a new number. He hadn't forgotten about me. I asked him when he was moving to San Francisco. He said when he got better. When I'd met him, his melanoma was in remission. I didn't need to ask him what that meant. I knew he was going to die. I talked to my co-workers about him. It felt great to have someone to share all of my feelings about him with. They kept asking me why I didn't pick him and each time I couldn't come up with an answer that was acceptable to me. Now that this has happned, I don't need an acceptable answer. I just have to say "It doesn't matter, he's dead now." I guess that's my way of avoiding regret. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe I should have listened to him. I miss him so much, though. I'm forever sorry that I was too scared to go see him before he died. But he didn't forget about me. He loved me in a way that nobody can or ever will again. It's hard to know that, that nobody will ever feel that way about me. I'm still not over his death and it'll probably take a very long time before I am. I guess that's why my current "fuckin' and suckin'" philosiphy is good for me. I don't have to obligate to myself to anybody while I'm clearly not over him, I can think about him all the time and not feel guilty.
I miss you, Jonathan.
If we're never together, if I'm never back again, well I swear to God that I'll love you forever.
I met him at a Green Day concert. It's strange to look back and realize that I really only spent 4 days with him in person. But they're 4 days I'll never forget. From the free beer, to Union Square, to conversations about the end of the world, to bonding over the loss of our fathers, to drinking a lot of booze and kissing and deciding whether or not it would be a good idea to have sex. We'd decided it wasn't. But when I dropped him off at Newark airport, the thought of never seeing him again wasn't anything that had ever crossed my mind. I guess I always thought there was something bigger than both of us that would bring us together. He promised he'd move to San Francisco, he promised he'd marry me and we'd have kids together. He promised to support me financially. He asked me to come to Arkansas to be with him, he said he'd pay. He said he had plenty of money, that I'd never have to work again. Even typing it out right now it doesn't seem real. But it was, it was so real and I wish so badly that everything would have worked out. And by worked out I mean ended with us together, both alive and cancer-free. I'm glad I didn't do all the things he asked me to and it absolutely kills me to say that and know that it's true. A dead friend is much easier to comprehend then a dead husband.
I still can't believe that it happened. We talked a lot over the next year plus until it just kind of faded in a way. I still thought about him constantly. I guess it wasn't fair to any of my other relationships that I thought about him that way, both as a friend and as more than that. I was so happy to receive a text message from him when he got a new number. He hadn't forgotten about me. I asked him when he was moving to San Francisco. He said when he got better. When I'd met him, his melanoma was in remission. I didn't need to ask him what that meant. I knew he was going to die. I talked to my co-workers about him. It felt great to have someone to share all of my feelings about him with. They kept asking me why I didn't pick him and each time I couldn't come up with an answer that was acceptable to me. Now that this has happned, I don't need an acceptable answer. I just have to say "It doesn't matter, he's dead now." I guess that's my way of avoiding regret. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe I should have listened to him. I miss him so much, though. I'm forever sorry that I was too scared to go see him before he died. But he didn't forget about me. He loved me in a way that nobody can or ever will again. It's hard to know that, that nobody will ever feel that way about me. I'm still not over his death and it'll probably take a very long time before I am. I guess that's why my current "fuckin' and suckin'" philosiphy is good for me. I don't have to obligate to myself to anybody while I'm clearly not over him, I can think about him all the time and not feel guilty.
I miss you, Jonathan.
If we're never together, if I'm never back again, well I swear to God that I'll love you forever.
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