My story: I loved Dave Brown with all my heart, pretty much since the moment I met him. He was loving, gregarious, smart, creative, animated, flirtatious, romantic, attentive, expressive, handsome, curious and downright hilarious. He was a storyteller, and even if the story he was telling wasn’t that poignant or funny, it was applied with perfect delivery. Followed by a laugh that I can still hear today, even though I haven’t physically heard it for so long.
Between us when things were good, they were really, really good. From there, they were kind of good, and then it spiraled into not so good. Okay, by not so good, I really mean devastating.
I once shamed myself for not correctively diagnosing the depression that he was living with when it was kind of good. But a lover’s responsibility is not to diagnose, their mission is to love. That’s what I did, and that’s what I will always do. Not a counselor, I am a lover.
There are some objects that I still carry from that time, things I made for him when we were together. But, they are only with me because they made sense to me, I was the only one left on this Earth who knew what they were created for. They were created from love, and how do you let go of that kind of thing, even if you are the only humanly voice left from that union that knows?
Some times, I think that by holding on to his things, I acknowledge and honor his existence and preserve his history. Other times, I think that I am not acknowledging his wishes by holding on. He didn’t want to be here, why would he want his stuff to be here?
The truth: The things I made for Dave were made for him as a representation of us, not of me. It makes me sad that I have them, they have brought me absolutely zero joy, and haven’t since I got them back. They made perfect sense at the time, but do not apply to the present. They are heavy in sadness. Hanging on to sadness is not healthy. My home is my sanctuary. Even if they were out of sight, boxed in my basement, they still carry an energy that does not belong in my sanctuary.
My action: Gone, gone, gone. I am so much lighter. In addition, the copy of “the note” hit the shredder, which is exactly where it should have gone 15 years ago.
Deep breath out…ahhhhhhh.