How to Fall in Love: A Ten Step Process

May

May

My eyes are closed. My mind only registering the sound of the waves and the wind. My hands feel through the grass as I sit facing the ocean. Letting the ends prick my fingers, I feel no pain. My only solitude is the ocean's company. Deep breath in, slowly out. In, out. 

How is it that I could share my life with another being for so long, and then have the carpet ripped out from underneath me? I'm always asking myself 'why me?'. 

---

November 17th, 2014. I'm up in the mountains, feeling more free than I have in two months. Two months of mental torture, family arguments, judgement from colleagues, and nightmares. Nightmares every single night. Cars, blood, screaming, Josh. Everything comes back to him, how I lost him, how I need him.

"It's dangerous to rely on someone that much, you need to move on."

"You're young! Don't worry!"

"You're lucky to still be with us."

"Our prayers are with you."

"You'll be okay. Give it time."

"You're so strong."

BULL SHIT

I get it. They're just trying to be nice, but what I think is nice is some privacy. I don't want a fucking lasagna at my door with an "I'm sorry for your loss." card stamped on the greasy aluminium foil. Fattening me up doesn't fill the void any more than medication or sleep.

I want a hug, maybe the occasional "I understand." I feel like the same person, just halved. I wish people would stop treating me like a charity case. Yes, I lost the fucking love of my life. No, I am not okay. Yes, I would like to be left alone.
Two months isn't a long time. I don't know how to explain the rage, or annoyance. It feels like my face is made of hot coals and when someone opens their fucking mouth and spews garbage, it bubbles up and spits fire in every direction. I can see the damage it causes to everyone around me, but I don't know how to stop it.

My scarf scratches against my chin. It's uncomfortable, but despite my sorrow, I do care about my health. I feel the sun on my face as I open my eyes. I see sunlight seeping through the cracks in the thick clouds. The birds are singing songs of grief up in the tall trees. I watch as a wisp of wind blows through the trees at the base of the hill. My hill.

I remember sitting in this exact spot with Josh, my parents, and grandparents. Josh was the last person I got to share this place with. I stand and gaze out over the beautiful ocean, angry waves and all. I shifted my feet, the grass was crunching under my feet from an early winter frost. I shivered as I walked back to the front of the wooden cottage.

I leafed through my brown journal, eyeing some particularly painful entries when Josh was alive. I scoffed as I read a passage I'd written the day after Josh and I had sex for the first time, in this cabin too. It was so mushy and emotional, and very very explicit. I leaned against the porch railing as I recalled that night. His hands on my hips, his lips on my thighs... I couldn't continue. The thought was too painful.

"One last box to pack, and I'm off." I whisper to myself as I place my leather journal on the heavy box. With one last look, I pick the box up and walk to my car. I had the top on and the back was full of boxes and blankets and pans. I don't need this place any more.

Josh and I were the last one's here, and now it's a new family's turn to make memories. I don't regret purchasing the place again, the few memories were worth it. I just wish that I was able to hold them for a while longer, bring my kids up here, watch from the back porch with Josh as my future daughter runs down the hill to the beach with her giggling filling the air.