Skip to main content

11

11 years. Has it really been that long?

I can still hear your voice. I can hear your laugh. I can hear you calling me Micha. I can hear you arguing with me. I can hear you breathe. But you're still gone. And I still miss you and I still love you.

We knew that "we" couldn't be. We knew that we had to go our own ways...but we always stayed in each other's life. Until that day. I remember trying time after time to call...but the phone lines were down. I have never been so scared.

I large part of me died with you. A large part of the world died with you. I was sure I'd never be happy again. But...I am.

I know you watch over me. I'm pretty sure you had something to do with her coming into my life. I don't see how else it could have happened. She's young, beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful, caring, talented...everything you know I need in my life. She's good for me. I try to be good for her...but I'm still a mess.

The legal mess wages on. There are days when I think it will go on forever. I'm over it. I'm trying to get my life together again. I'm cancer free. My ticker is still damaged...and will be forever. I try to be happy. I have lots of reasons to be happy. I'm pretty sure your hand has guided mine in many instances.

I've been out of work all year. I wonder if you had something to do with that too. Maybe it's your way of telling me it's time to do something else. I just wish I could talk to you. You were so good with advice. You were more disciplined than I'll ever be. Damn...I miss you.

I'm playing music more. I'm sure your hand guided that. I'm playing bass again too. It feels good. I'm hoping to start touring with a few different acts. We'll see what time brings.

I was finally able to keep my promise to my grandmother and Aunt Ann. I got my dad and sister talking. Dad finally got to meet his granddaughters. It meant so much to them. And to me. I get weepy just thinking about it. You know me...Mr. Waterworks.

One of my nieces just got engaged. Her fiance...I met him a couple of years ago. He came to visit with Nancy and the girls. He seems like a good kid. He's a firefighter. Noble. I think they'll make a good home together. I wish the girls could have known their auntie. I think they'd love you.

It still hurts. The pain never goes away. I have become accustomed to it though...it's become a part of me. I laugh a lot more these days. I've accepted it. Kind of hard not to, eh? I still pull your photo out now and then...although, to see your face, all I have to do is close my eyes. I know you're still there.

I love her you know. As usual, I think I suck at showing it...but I try. And try. It's funny, there are moments when she reminds me of you. You two couldn't be more different...but maybe, those moments when she reminds me of you...maybe that's you working through her. I don't know. I'm getting weirder. Maybe it's just me getting old. Damn, I have a lot of gray hair now. I'll always remember you pointing out my first gray hairs. And I'm still sure YOU caused them! HAHA!

Oh my little petitsa na poby. I feel lost a lot of the time. I feel like I'm just spinning my wheels. I don't think I'm done here. I just don't know how to make it happen anymore. I feel lost.

Oh well. It's another year gone by. The world has gone crazy. There is so much hate today. I'm almost glad you don't have to see it. I worry about what's going to happen to this country and the world. I think things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.

I hope you're at peace. Just know that I will always love you. But, I must be among the living and I'm lucky, she loves me and I love her. I probably don't deserve her. I'm just happy she puts up with my grumpy old ass.

I'll see you where I always do. In my dreams. If you can, give me a nudge. Push me a bit. You know how I get when I'm like this. You were always able to get my ass moving when nothing else could.

I'll see you soon.

Namaste my love.

M

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An Old Photo

The photo was old and scratched up. It looked like it had been handled and mishandled for years, and it probably had. Passed from hand to hand, tucked into scrapbooks, displayed in frames, stuffed into drawers, and rescued again. It had been looked at thousands of times. It was still his favorite. It wasn't historically important. Just a photograph of friends sitting in someone's back garden, sharing a few laughs and a few cold beers. The image was every bit as grainy as the memories attached to it. The colors had faded with age, drifting toward reds and yellows. Time had left its fingerprints everywhere. He was the only one left in the photograph. When his time came, would anyone remember those old glory days? Those years when importance itself seemed unimportant. When photographs weren't taken to prove anything, advertise anything, or preserve a carefully crafted image. They were taken simply because someone thought a moment was worth keeping. There was no guarantee the p...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Bluesy Melody and a Scratchy Photograph

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't born in the mountains. Nor had he been raised in a cave. His appearance, though, often led people to think otherwise. A barber's chair was as likely a place for him to visit as the moon. I don't believe he had ever shaved. His hair, long and unkempt, looked even longer thanks to his seemingly endless beard, which was braided and knotted at the bottom. If unfurled, it probably would have dipped well below his waist.  His mannerisms and manner, while peculiar, were so only in that he was almost religiously polite. What at first glance might appear stand-offish was nothing more than his attempts at being inobtrusive. He was almost like some Appalachian monk, raised by a society trapped in the past, who occasionally ventured into town. He was extremely well-read and more tech savvy than most teenagers. Utmost, he maintained his privacy. No one knew just where he lived. He came and went at his own leisure, unnoticed by the world until he mad...
Post a Comment
Read more

The American

 In his native America, he'd always had a shady reputation. As a young man, he worked as muscle for hire, worked as a bouncer in gambling houses and brothels, and always had a side hustle moving drugs or weapons. He could always be counted on to find a buyer for stolen goods, too. He was smart enough to see the cracks forming in the government long before most. Within days of the First Attack, he'd made plans to leave the country. Some of his cohorts with Sicilian lineage helped him get to Europe. From there he was on his own. He managed to bring along a tidy sum in cash and jewels. This gave him the advantage of time to form new contacts. He was told time and time again that the capital of Bulgaria - Sofia - would be a good place to set himself up. There were gangs there who could make use of his skills, and provided he kept out of trouble and his name out of the local gossip, he would do fine.  And he did. He pretty much became, as he liked to call himself, a consultant. He ...
Post a Comment
Read more