Celebrating the Bad Times

Today is a special anniversary for David and me. One year ago, he left. The longest nine months of our lives started on that day.

This is the last photo I have of David in America.

I kinda get sick to my stomach just thinking about that awful day. Even the day before was brutal. I remember being in the car together on our way to Easton Town Center for our personal last supper. The sun began to set, it dawned on me that when it rose again, it would be time to say goodbye. I started crying, but hastily stopped since tears are a serious hazard.

There was a sort of peace about the way we attempted to happily reminisce over two giant margaritas. It was a sad calm, the calm of knowing your fate and not having the capacity to process the adequate emotions, leaivng you with little or no emotions to express at all. It was a pleasant evening, and a brief one.

The next morning was intense. It was all about the mission: getting to the airport on time. Our fragile minds had to focus on the only thing we actually had control over. Saying goodbye to Megan prompted the first tears of the morning. I didn't expect her to be so emotional. I know she would miss "the D", but I think that in that moment she was also just overcome by our grief.

We emerged to the first morning frost of the season. David sat in the warming car while I stepped out to scrape the windshield. I etched a heart in the thin layer of ice just in front of his face. It was about then we both lost it. I did my best to hold in as much of it as I could until arriving safely to the airport.

The airport was a nightmare. I bought us each a pack of cigarettes. Ten minutes later I bought us each a pack of kleenex. We had arrived pretty early, so there was plenty of time to weep and cause a scene. Each minute that passed was torture, but one we were both willing to hold onto for as long as possible. When it came time for him to go through the gate, we stood and lingered. We embraced and kissed, embraced and kissed, stuck in a loop, stubbornly rejecting the followthrough, a silent protest to the cruel and inevitable outcome. Out of nowhere, I released him. I let him walk alway. I honestly cannot tell you HOW I did this, I do not know where this strength came from, as every part of my body and heart was yelling at me not to let go. But I did. And he disappeared beyond the checkpoint. I moved swiftly to the elevator, afraid of catching another glimpse of him.

Wow, I've been crying just in recounting this story. Sure it's depressing, but at least it's historically accurate! I suppose I wanted to write about this because I never really recorded it any other way. I think it's important to remember everything that we went through together in order to truly appreciate what we have today. As human beings we take so much for granted. But right now, reflecting on the worst day of my life, which happened exactly one year ago today, I'm definitely not taking him for granted. Yay! We made it through!