I should write today.
Words to say what you were, the complex and convoluted ways in which I learned who I was from you.
I should talk about knowing someone so well - the stages of knowing:
The playground beliefs, "My dad is better than your dad" stereotypes;
The moment you fell running bases at ball, and I learned you were human;
The moments I learned what your struggle was really about.
I should find ways to say the gravity of your loss.
The way my breath goes shallow at the thought of the rest of my life without you.
But I've none. This is it.
This year, despite all summons of bravery and grace, I just feel the loss.
The loss of the children I may never even have, that you'll surely never meet.
The loss of you hearing me sing now.
The chance of pride, or if not, even the sound of your critique.
I imagine hearing that - the ways I could improve, the things I should be learning - and calling your eyes to mine, to smile and lovingly hold your stare, both of us knowing what that's really about.
I imagine too, the other side of you, that would maybe sit softly listening, and say something like, "I didn't know you could do that..."
with the open vulnerability you sometimes showed, welling up.
I miss you. I miss the quiet of our similarities, like a low hum beneath the surface of who I am.
This is a love that's incomparable. Our acknowledgement of authenticity, messy, sad, sick - all of it. The space between us that allowed honesty, and safety.
Our willingness to return to it when it was lost to us.
There is no love, born of acceptance, that I've known like yours.
Love You Anyway - Demo from Rick Edgett on Myspace.