Not only did I hate you, but I also envied you, simply because you had everything I wanted but didn't have. I was being stupid, but every time I saw you, I wanted to hit your pretty face. Your hair is what I despised the most, that fountain of white blonde needed no help to look perfect; whereas mine, even after an hour of styling never looked decent. I know now that you're not the idiotic prat I believed you were in school.
After graduation I went to college, and bought a house in Wales. Even when you and I never saw each other you still showed up everywhere. Front-page pictures for varying donations and charities showed up so often I stopped reading most papers, trying to avoid you. On my way to the office I noticed large banners advertising your band and quickly bought a ticket.
Days later I entered the mosh pit to watch you perform. Never before had I heard any of the songs, but I loved all of them. After the concert I bought a CD and stood in the line for autographs. I got to the front and glanced into your eyes—that endless expansion of electric blue you could drown in—and smiled at you. When you said nothing, I took the case and ran off; later when I looked at your massage I felt better. I sat it on my mantle, but continued with my life; you and I would never work out, we were too different.
The next summer your band was on tour once again, and you'd be in Wales on June 14. I bought my ticket weeks in advance, and even got new clothes, just for the occasion. The night of the concert I was in the pit again, screaming along with the rest until the last cord died off. I was pushed out the doors and fought to find my car.
I was waiting in the three-mile long line to exit the parking lot when you climbed into the passenger's seat. Immediately I asked what you were doing, to which you admitted to liking me in school and how you needed a place to stay because you quit the band. I took you to my house, and gave you clothes, explaining that the Goth look didn't work in my neighborhood.
It ended up; you were permanently living with me. When we started sleeping together, I found out you liked to snuggle, ever since I woke up being held like a teddy bear. It was that what got you up before noon. Once a week we went shopping – both grocery and clothing. You, unlike me loved shopping; nose, eye, ear, and tongue were where you like to stick the needle through.
A year later we were still together; it was June 15, 2001 when we became engaged. All of our family and friends were thrilled we were tying the knot. Our wedding—six months later—was beautiful; white roses and vanilla scented candles provided a wonderful aroma and soft lighting. As we tied our souls together, excitement shone brightly around us, it was truly beautiful.
We had a healthy relationship, we were meant to be. Though it was only three months after our wedding then you tried to get me to divorce you, saying you didn't deserve me and I could do so much better. Finally I convinced you though that you and I were a great couple and you were just being a worry-wart, and once again my life was perfect.
Then we had the kids. It was past our two-year anniversary when you said you wanted to adopt. And of course, me being me, I thought you wanted a dog. We signed up for adoption and six months later Katlyn and Anthony were welcomed into our family. Honestly, if possible the arrival of our little 'angels' (ha-ha) bought us even closer as a couple.
The kids were three when you were diagnosed with cancer, thank goodness they didn't understand it was fatal at the time. Maybe if I had told them it would've made them take it better than they did. At first it was just routine check-ups at the specialist's office; but at some point it was so bad you were admitted into the hospital. While you were in there I found it hard to visit you, seeing my tough little baby looking so helpless. I did visit every day, though most of the time you were sleeping or writing in your journal, two things I didn't want to disturb you during.
As sad as this may seem I knew you wouldn't make it, I don't know how I knew. I just did. Maybe it was just me being my old paranoid self but I just had a feeling. The terrible thing is the feeling was right on the mark of truth.
You died March 28, 2005; you were only twenty-nine. I was with you, though you didn't notice, your body was convulsing so violently, but I held your hand, sad that nothing could be done. They took your body away, but I never cried; only went home to relieve the babysitter. Melony greeted me, asking how you were; my look told her everything, you always said I was easy to read.
Over the course of the next seven days I wrote the eulogy, picked out a headstone, and told our kids. Friends and family came to our house, laden with food and offering words of encouragement. Never did I cry though, not even when I was alone. I needed to be strong for our children, and your funeral needed to be planed.
The day of said funeral I sat with Natalie—your mother—and tried to keep the kids occupied, they never could sit still, and it's from your influence. Natalie cried, holding Katlyn who flat out bawled. Anthony sat in my lap trying to be strong, but still sniffling. When I had to go and read, your dad took Anthony while I went to do the hardest thing ever, say goodbye. I told about you life, your dreams, your hopes and how we became what we were.
I held our babies as we all stood around the grave as your coffin was lowered down. Your father was crying by the end; unlike me, I kept a sad smile but didn't cry. The children slept with me that night in the guest room I now claimed as my own. I tried to sleep in 'our' room, but with you no longer there to snuggle with, I couldn't.
Weeks later Helen–the social worker–brought your things from the hospital to the house, along with several pounds of candy for the kids. She handed me the clear plastic bag containing your clothes, journal, and jewelry; asking if I was going to be okay. I nodded, heading up the stairs to put those few items away; asking Helen not to let the kids eat all that candy at once. Upstairs I dumped the clothes in the hamper and put your body rings away and putting your dragon necklace on. I moved to put the journal away when I noticed a page in the middle was folded. The page was your last entry and on it were four words in your tidy scrawl.
It's okay to cry.
I barely made it to our bed before breaking down completely into sobs. They found me there an hour later, the journal opened to the same page beside me.