you (and/or) me

Rae Klein, Comfort in Calamity

I often find myself thinking to you. Loosely catching you up on my life and current events as if you’re in the passenger seat. It is still shocking to me that you are dead. The permanence is not yet grasped. Like trying to catch a summer fog between my two palms.

During times of uncertainty, I find myself thinking to you most. When you were alive, I don’t remember ever seeking your advice. It was your validation I longed to hear from the other end of the phone. I imagine a phone cord, connecting mom’s house to yours, south on the highway, across the river, up the hill, just a phone call away.

When they found your body, your phone was never located. Did you bring it with you? If I called, would you answer?

Things have felt different between us. When I sense you around, my belly muscles clench. Sometimes your neediness is still so strong it pierces the veil. I have to fight the urge to come running.

I understand you more now than ever before. Your death was a permission slip to be honest with myself about what you did and did not do. I don’t know who you are to me now. If you were to materialize, I would look at you, but I would not walk towards or away from you. Honestly, I do not think you could meet my gaze. I’m not sure you ever did.

Will we make it through? You and me. I am hoping for a point of resolution. I try to find my footing amidst these complicated feelings. I am scared we will never come back together. I am scared I don’t want to. In the absence of guilt, what (who) would I choose (you and/or me)?