8 Months

Hi Craiggie, it's me. Your little Sal.

It's been 8 months since you disappeared. Funny that. It feels more like 8 years. It also feels like it was just last week. Remember when I couldn't even get out of bed? Day after day, sitting on the couch with TA, staring vacantly at the Food Network, of all things. You'd think I'd have learned to cook something from it, right?

I barely remember those first weeks. They are one long blur. All I remember is the pain. And thinking it would never, ever get better.

I remember wishing I could just have died with you. Because it felt like I did. All those crazy drives out to the hill at all hours of the day and night. Wishing, just wishing, somebody would hit me. But wanting to die and wanting to kill yourself are not the same thing.

I thought I would suffocate from wanting you. That's what it felt like. Like I couldn't breathe. Just you, all the time, in and out.

I was so angry with you. For leaving me. For not saying goodbye. For not getting out of bed that morning. For not telling me you loved me. For not giving me the chance to say it back. I know it's not your fault and there was nothing you could do but sometimes you just need someone to be mad at.

But things change.

It's not that time heals our wounds.

We just find a way to live with the pain.

And I'm finding ways.

I sold our house and moved. That was hard. Our home. It was so perfect, wasn't it? I know I never said so, but man do I think it now. I'll probably miss it more than you. I took lots of pictures though. Just like when we left the apartment. They weren't as good as the ones you took though. No Craig making goofy faces standing next to the tv while it played the Magic Bullet commercial. Damn, I was in such a pissy mood that day. And you made me laugh so hard with those ridiculous photos. Just like always.

I survived court. I did what you wanted. I made peace with it. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I thought I was going to be sick standing up there, telling all those strangers about out life together. And that man. That poor man. He looked like someone turned him inside out, chewed him up, and spat him back onto the ground. He looked how I felt. He's sorry you know. Well. You probably knew long before I did.

I got back into school. Finishing that accounting certificate I've been working on since forever. I wish you were here for that one. You did all this stuff already. All these nights I've wished you were here to help me study. You were so much smarter than I ever gave you credit for. Than anyone ever gave you credit for.

I got winter tires on the car. I figured now you'd probably approve. I know they wouldn't have done you much good, but still. And today it snowed but I'm still too scared to take the car out, even with them. Now I'm the one who is afraid to die. Imagine that.

I've been doing the work, baby. Grief work. That's what they call it. I talk about you all the time, even when nobody listens. I go to grief groups. I go to counseling. It's not the same as talking to you though. You would be the best counselor I could ask for. But you aren't here. But still. I keep trying.

I started playing again. Music. I forgot how much I loved it. Sometimes when you get the notes just right, and the tone is just perfect, it's like creating a life of your own. I hope you can hear it, wherever you are. I know how much you loved to hear me play.

I have a lot to do still, though. Your ashes. Your clothes. Your books. So many things. It took me this long, but I have a plan now. I just have to put it into action. I know you'll love it.

I miss you, you know.

So much more than I thought possible.

It just feels like I've lost this part of myself. Not just a limb or something. But like a whole half of my body.

All these years together, all these memories. We really were best friends, weren't we? I miss that most, you know. My buddy. Our whispering and giggling and how I could talk to you about absolutely anything. And you'd get it. You always got it.

But it's been 8 months now.

And I keep putting one foot in front of the other.

And sometimes I laugh. And sometimes I cry. But not as much as those first days. Not by a long shot.

But I never stop thinking about you.

And I never will.

I miss you, Friend.

So much.

Hope you're okay, wherever you are.