September 10, 2011

So yeah. 10 years. I can't even remember my password anymore. It still stings when Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car" comes on the radio. Ever since Adam died, I've had a weird feeling that somehow it's his message to me. When it happened, I was broken up with my boyfriend, and Adam and I were both in a depressed state of mind. We'd chat on the net while watching the same shows (such as Natural History of the Chicken), meet up after work for a glass of wine, share dinner. We'd dance around the depression. He had told me he would probably kill himself, I told him to not ask me about the self-inflicted burns on my arm. I can't say there were feelings involved -- I think we were both too numb at the time to be anything but clinical friends.

It's weird how life works. As my social circle has grown, it came to include a police officer. I don't remember how it came up in conversation, but it turns out he was one of the officers in front of Adam's house that day. I remember hating those storm trooper dressed fucks because they were standing around, bullshitting about their kids and plans for the day. I don't anymore, he told me his perspective and I told him mine and we both learned something.

10 years on. I'm married (six years now) to the boyfriend I'd left. He was one of the first people I called when it happened. I think it must have been hard for him; he thought Adam and I were dating. But he was so supportive.

I don't think about Adam as much as I used to; mostly when I hear "Fast Car" and around this time of year. I think that's as it should be. There's still enough of a tinge of guilt that hasn't gone away yet. But I try not to dwell on that, try to turn to thoughts of good times. At the moment I find myself thinking about his wife and kids. His brother and father. How they're doing, how they've dealt. I hope that they are healthy and happy.

TL;DR: RIP Hermetic.

Things change.

This morning, while riding in the car on the way to Salem, Oregon I watched the sunrise while thinking about Adam. Then I saw Ophie's daylog. My head filled with all the things that have been swirling around for 10 years. These are the things that I do not want to say. So, I began to write them down in my notebook. I filled three pages. I'm not going to share that with you though. Those words are meant to be shared around a campfire followed by a toast to those departed.

On our way home later in the day, we stopped in Corvallis, Oregon for lunch. We sat outside and enjoyed our lunch. The sun came over the edge of the shade structure and Stephen gave Dylan his sunglasses. With the sunglasses on, he looked shockingly like his father. Elizabeth snapped a picture of him that can be found here. The similarity hurts and comforts.

Things change.

I'm finishing up my degree in Landscape Architecture at the University of Oregon this year. I have married and divorced – most likely my fault for both. I've had moments of desperation and elation. I've found the right relationship. Retrospect thinking is a kick in the pants.

Elizabeth recently got her learner's permit, she's 15 now. Tonight, Stephen helped me to make one of Adam's dearest desires come true. He taught Elizabeth and Dylan (Cait watched) how to change a tire and the various parts of a car engine. I'll be doing the lesson on manual transmissions soon. Now, Dylan, Elizabeth and a friend are at the dining room table drawing. Their laughter is soothing my soul.

I'm finally home. I've come to learn that this will always be with me. The ache caused by his absence will always be there. But over time, I'm getting used to it and it's going to be ok. It already is ok.