Remembering G: Fleeting moments

Memories have become smoky wisps – they scatter as I try to catch them. Images form in my head and melt away before I can comprehend them. Emotions well up and are gone before I can understand them. The inside of my head is the epitome of chaos.

I see him smiling at me from pictures, and I know he is right here, coming home after an exciting day. For every day was exciting for him – he made it so… The pictures trigger thoughts that are lost before my fingers can type them.

“He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and it’s not about his face, but the life force I can see in him. It’s the smile and the pure promise of everything he has to offer. Like he’s saying, ‘Here I am world, are you ready for so much passion and beauty and goodness and love and every other word that should be in the dictionary under the word life?’ Except this boy is dead, and the unnaturalness of it makes me want to pull my hair out with Tate and Narnie and Fitz and Jude’s grief all combined. It makes me want to yell at the God that I wish I didn’t believe in. For hogging him all to himself. I want to say, ‘You greedy God. Give him back. I needed him here.”  

Melina Marchetta, On the Jellicoe Road.

I wanted this blog to be a memoire of our time together. But I now know how naive I was. How do you pen down 15 years? How do you take stock of every moment and put a word to it? How do you describe every feeling, every touch, every understanding? I wanted to put down everything before I forget it, but I overestimated my capacity. I can’t catch these threads of memories, I can’t make a tapestry of them. I can just know within myself that they happened, and mourn this loss.

His memories will always make me smile, or laugh, or cry, or furious. They will always make me long for more…

I have been frantic with worry that moments are fading. Frantic that there will be no record of them. I have been thinking hard, trying to remember everything that I can possibly write here. Until now… I have realized that even if I don’t write it, the memory is within me, a part of me, and it will always be mine. It might disappear for a moment, or longer, it may not be there when I search for it; but it will be back when I need it the most.

I still dream of him, of us… doing things together, going on adventures, lounging on the sofa, happy, sad, fighting. It’s like in my unconscious he is still alive. If I can’t make new memories in the real world, I can make them in my imagination.


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