I lie here in this cold and sterile hospital room, in a bed that feels as if it's ten feet off the floor, with ten miles of tubes attached to me, meant, I suppose, to sustain my life. What there is of it in any case. Even though I no longer am capable of physical things, my mind is still on it's normal treadmill. I asked for no heroics, but I guess they believe there's still some hope. So I guess I'll go on a trip back in time for lack of anything useful to do . . .
I sense your presence in the room, more from the familiar scent, if nothing else. You never did lack for a manly smell. I mean that only in a good way, of course. It was part of the attraction. Your personality matched it. You were a man's man, and I admired that. Could never get you to believe it, though. Perhaps that was why you took mere opinions and suggestions as an attack on your intelligence. You are your own worst enemy. And you could never let anyone love you. You thought you knew love, but did you? You were probably loved more than you ever loved back. You were too involved in your own shortcomings to care about others'.
In the beginning, we really had something, you and I. We laughed, we had fun, we tried to get used to each other, we made memories, and we loved. But you were oh so different from anything I was used to. I asked myself so many times, "why am I with this man? I would never pick him from a lineup". But I could never come up with a definitive answer. You told me so quickly into the relationship that you loved me, and I thought "how can he know that . . . I need to be friends first". But I guess you were one of those believers in love at first sight. I was always the analyst, the thinker. That bothered you. But, in the end, it always saved my hide, so I stuck with it.
As time went on, and I learned your idiosyncrasies and downfalls, I only seemed to love you more, but in ever-changing ways. And it became apparent that the more I loved and cared about you, the more you drifted. And yet, in a way, you wouldn't let me go. Those who know you told me that I was different than anyone in your past, that, with me, you became a better person, more likeable in their minds. But you continued to fight yourself, and I fought to maintain my integrity, not letting you control who I am. As you reached farther into a depression, which I later learned was the result of a "rotten" childhood, and battled your other medical issues, I felt myself becoming more of a caregiver than a love in your life. I had learned a long time ago exactly what I was capable of withstanding, but I also knew that, even with that strength, I needed to watch myself and learn when to let go. But that may be the very reason you never quite let me go. You knew that I, unlike others, would never abandon you. And I never really did.
Our "story" began and ended many years ago when you moved over that mountain, yet here you are. You've come to see me off, watch me set sail, fade into the great beyond. Maybe it's the only way that you know how to pay tribute to me. If I had my druthers, I'd have chosen that you had learned to let yourself go, believe in yourself, and just let life fold you in. You and I were night and day. Against all odds, I always seemed to be happy no matter what came along. If I could leave you with that gift, you know I would do it in a heart beat.
Is it book worthy? Only time will tell . . .
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