Noche de los Muertos
Friday I’d gone to work in a t-shirt I bought in Mexico with a Día de los Muertos theme and the necklace he gave me. The jacket I threw on in the cold morning had the grasshopper pin he gave me the last Christmas we had together. Apropos of the shirt, I’m sure, a guy at work asked me at the end of the day if I was going to the Day of the Dead procession, and I said, “No, I’m having a quiet celebration at home.” He looked at me kind of funny, and I guess it was a strange thing to say, “celebration,” but then again, it is a memorial holiday, a private time, and a parade is equally strange, to my mind. I didn’t feel the need to explain.
I had a plan for the evening, which wasn’t all that different than my usual plan for the evening, really. I was going to play some songs for him, then listen to our playlist and read old chats and just be with him, as he was, instead of in memory.
The evening started much later than I intended, indicating to me that I’m still avoiding, but for a different reason. I wanted to read those chats, though they tend to do a number on me, which is why I don’t read them every day. But I had errands to run after work, and the dogs keep bringing sticks into the house and making a mess, so instead of going out for a walk, I spent 45 minutes vacuuming every room in the house, then sat in the hot tub, and finally settled in for an evening of memories, wearing the silk Chinese slippers we bought in Chinatown together on one of my visits.
I read a handful of chats from October of 2004, early in our romance, and I fell in love again. I always do. I read them, and I could see that there was no chance of my not falling in love with A; he was just a delicious human being on every single level. I read and I laughed. He was funny; I was funny; together we were hysterical. I was funnier with him than I am without him. I couldn’t believe how hard I laughed. I cried a little, too. That was expected. I always cry, because I want that back, that easy love and effortless connection and conversation with him.
I listened to our songs, and when it got to the last one on the list, I got up and danced to it, swaying like we used to, my hands clasped to my chest instead of around his neck as the tears slowly slid down my cheek.
How I loved that man. How I love him still.