Every time I open my phone contacts and
scroll through the C's, there's his name, Caleb Churder. My heart lurches and a
heaviness fills my chest. I don't want to delete it. I don't want to erase the
reminders of him that continue to be in my life. . . that will always be in my
life. But damn it--I can't call him anymore. Same thing for his address in my
phone book. He's not there to receive a letter or the birthday card I always
send him in November. He's not there. . . although I occasionally find myself
talking to him as if he were next to me, accompanying me in the mundane
activities of my day. How I wish I could really talk to him again. How I wish I
could do over the last conversation I had with him. Really ask how he was
doing. Really hear his heart.
How I wish I had bought the book he wrote
when he told me it was available. Sure, I bought it now, but it's too late. Too
late to show him my support. I'm reading it slowly as if I can keep him with me
by hearing the words he wrote like it's a current conversation we are having.
The thing that weighs heavily in my heart
and my gut is how fast life moves on. I do not want to move on yet. I need time
to process this loss. A long, long time.
I hate that it's just been over two weeks--we're not even out of the
month that it happened, and it already feels like I'm dragging it on to express
my sadness. That's just not right Dammit! This boy mattered to me! ALOT!
When people ask how I am, I don't really
want to say fine, although out of habit, I usually do. But in my heart I'm not
fine. And I don't really want to be fine. It's just too soon.
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