12 Weeks

Twelve weeks, my love. Missing you, longing to be with you, feeling so empty and alone, but trying to accept what you’ve asked of me. Trying to live.

I achieved a few things today, the greatest being a small sense of calm at having to wait perhaps years before being reunited with you. We’ve been parted before, a necessary evil. Sure, the longest was only 2 weeks, but I told you my heart was yours forever, and you told me the same thing. What are these words worth if we can’t back them up?

I completed Phase 1 of Project Iron Horse today; I applied for and obtained my motorbike learner’s licence. It was surprisingly easy. The sun shone from a blue sky, there was no queue, I answered all the questions correctly, paid my $20 and walked out the door, legally allowed to begin taking lessons. That will be Phase 2, and I haven’t decided yet whether I shouldn’t first get on a push-bike for a few weeks to check how my balance on two wheels is these days. Riding around the lake or to the shops and back would be good for me, help me get fit. Maybe the motorbike lessons will be Phase 3.

No one knows about this Project but me and you. Let’s keep it that way for now.

Sorted out a couple more unpleasant financial tasks. How I hate having to explain to people over the phone why I’m calling, why our bank account now has the letters DECD after your name, that it’s ok to ask me for details rather than continue to offer awkward condolences, would they like a certified copy of the death certificate or is a plain copy alright?

Came to Mum and Dad’s for dinner and to celebrate my brother’s birthday, which is today. Chipped in for a really nice gift; you’d approve. Played Guitar Hero with him and his lovely girlfriend until midnight. As a complete GH novice, I didn’t do too well to keep the band from being booed off the stage but it was all fun. Yes, love; I had fun, another thing I know you’d approve of.

That’s not to say I didn’t bawl my eyes out earlier this afternoon while still at the house and trying to come to terms with how hard the past 12 weeks have been and how hard the next 12 weeks will be and how desperately I miss you and need a hug. Still, there was a story on the news about how any one of us could die at any moment of a brain aneurysm (an argument I already have lined up for the day when Mum and Dad find out about Project Iron Horse), so it might not be that long until we’re together again. It’s not something I’m working toward, but I’m certainly not taking measures to avoid it either. Like the motorbike. It’s something we always talked about doing but put off because we each wanted to live long, happy, safe lives for each other. My life of caution and restraint as a child and adolescent wasn’t wasted – it brought me to you and kept me there until your time here ended – but the risks of motorbike riding are now acceptable to me. I’m not about to be stupid. I don’t want to break bones or lose skin or find out what it’s like to live in a wheelchair. All these things could happen whether I ride a bicycle, a motorbike, a horse, drive a car, go skydiving or just walk across the road.

What am I doing? I don’t need to justify this to you. You’d be doing the same thing in my position, I know it. I don’t know if a motorbike will help me find happiness, but I do know I have to try it to find out. Hell, I might chicken out once I’ve had a lesson or two. We’ll see.

I wish I felt better about trying to live without you. I feel like coward, that if I was brave enough, I’d find my way to you directly. Me living on is what you want though; you couldn’t make it any clearer. I can do it only because it’s you asking. You told me I needed to brave enough for both of us, so I guess you feel courage is in being patient, accepting we have some time apart to endure and trying still to make the most of it. To learn. To do more than just survive. To be more. It must be just as hard for you, although you tell me you’re ok.

It’s late, darl. I should sleep. I’ve a long drive tomorrow (today) to visit your folks for lunch and I always seem to be short of sleep whenever I need to make that trip. I miss you so much it hurts, love, deep inside. It hurts like someone is stomping on my soul, crushing it flat so they can fold it up and put it away somewhere.

Think I’m coming up to the top of the rollercoaster again. I’ll try to catch a glimpse of the view before the fall.

Love you. xxx