What’s really bothering me at the moment is that I can’t remember the five stages of death or grief or whatever the fuck. I know there is anger; denial; bargaining and acceptance. There is a fifth one but for the life of me . . . is it increduility? I know it isn’t but that could easily be one and it’s different then denial because it isn’t so much that I don’t believe it; I’ve passed that point a little while ago. Like when the phone rang and it was his brother calling from his phone and I thought HE was calling to tell me it was all a big fuck up; that it was a cruel joke or that it was his dad and not him or I don’t even know what.
There’s a song that keeps going through my head: you’re in my heart, you’re in my soul . . . so what, it’s rod stewart, now you know I’m cheesey. And he is; always has been since I was fifteen and accosted him in the hall for his phone number. Contrary to what people say it isn’t like that piece of your soul dies – it’s far more painful than that. For every part of your soul that is alive there is a touch stone on the outside. Beauty is a part of your soul and anytime you need to bring that part out there are trees or flowers, poetry or music; whatever it is that is your touchstone.
So pumping and beating alongside my heart; wedged in my soul are all the times we connected; all our conversations; growing up together; fighting; the chemistry that danced and bounced between us tangibly and sometimes annoyingly. That is all still there but I have no touchstone. That’s all I can bear to say for now.