What a year hath wrought

A year ago, you kissed me under the moon and it began. You told me I was sexy and beautiful and said all the things I always wanted to hear.

And it was perfect.

You were the final piece of my life falling into place.

I had it all. I had what I wanted.

School. Straight A, 4.0 student. Classes I loved. Teachers I loved. Producing work that I am still so very proud of.

My teaching job. Who'dve thought I would end up teaching fine art to children? Discovering this hidden talent? Having that talent nurtured. Knowing I had a future with this company, eventual goal to have my own studio.

And you. We fit together. Knowing you for so long before actually going out with you just made us fit better.

For a moment, a year ago, I looked ahead and saw nothing but hope and wonder and exactly what I wanted. I thought, for a moment, this is it. I finally have the life that I want. I never thought you and I were forever but I thought we were for a while, whatever shape that took. And for the first time, I stopped worrying and stopped thinking about next month, next year, next anything. For a moment, it was the perfect moment.

And then...

March 9. IDC - invasive ductal carcinoma.

And slowly but surely, over the past year, everything has gone.

And losing you put the pin in it.

I could have handled losing you by itself. It would have been hard, of course, because I did fall. And I think you did, though you'll never admit it. My heart would have still broken but it wouldn't have been so hard.

But you were the last thing holding me together. Because of everything you've given me since March 9. Because as everything fell to the side, you were still there.

And now...

It's a year later. And I can't help but think of you kissing me so sweetly in the yard and then really kissing me as you dropped me off after that wonderful night.

And it's a year later. And we didn't make it. And you're not here.

And there's nothing here now. 

That perfect moment a year ago is gone. And all the things I thought I would have now are gone. 

And as the thing that destroyed my life is now slowly getting handled and slowly becoming less and less consuming, I'm left with emptiness around me.

And I know I'll rebuild and things will change and somewhere out there is another perfect moment with school and work and maybe someone else kissing me under the moon. 

And I'll look back at this moment and realize that I survived it and put it behind me. And I'll wonder about the tears I shed over everything, including you. And I'm pretty sure you won't be there to wonder with me about those tears because, well, you'll be like all the others and vanish silently and seamlessly despite the promises and all that. And I'll wonder in that moment where you are and send you loving thoughts that you're happy in whatever world you're in.

And in a year, this won't seem so big and so sad and so hard. And I'll be proud of how I survived and how I got through and how I held my head up and dug in. And I'll be proud of the lessons I learned with you and with cancer and with all that came with it. And I'll have moved on and become something new and someone new and someone stronger and older and deeper.

But right now, this moment, I'm not there. I'm lost in that moment a year ago when you kissed me deep and kissed me long at my front door and everything clicked. I'm lost in the moment of perfection and hope and possible. 

And I want all of that back. I want my life back - with you in it. With my father in it. With all of it in it. I want a year ago and I want to stay there, never to face March 9, never to face cancer and chemo and surgery and scars and drugs and baldness and pain and exhaustion and fear and terror and uncertainty and mortality. I want all of it back. 

I just want my life back.