TL;DR- a work I’ll have to come back to.

We agreed to do this life together in a time before time. 

You pushed me through to test the waters. Two weeks you waited to join me here.  Maybe you were afraid I’d back out and leave you alone, but it’s me here without you now. Did you know then what I know now?

Our mothers had to be without our fathers so that we could be together. 

I toured nursery schools when my mother had to join the workforce. There was one with narrow stairways that could serve as a horror movie set after hours. There was one that tried to win me over with snacks. The helping hand I needed was yours. You made me not afraid. We carried chairs on our backs as we crawled across the room. Hobos looking to make a life together. I dipped my little fingers in paint and rubbed it off on easel paper as I looked over my shoulder to make sure you were there. We fell asleep at nap time staring across our mats and speaking without opening our mouths. I wonder if you had friends before I got there. 

At summer camp, we’d disappear from our groups and make our own world in the woods. We’d uncover treasures and mysteries and climb through storm drains. Until the day, they’d had enough and made us confess our love for each other. Did you love me the way that I loved you?  Teenage counselors agreed to keep us in the same group if we’d stop running away. So our world moved to a bubble where they could keep an eye on us, but our world did not grow large enough for more than two to enter. 

We camped together, and Disneyed together. We fought over who would be the doctor and who would be the patient, who would have the prettier red horseshoes and who suffered with the yellow ones. I’d put up a fight but I always let you have your way.  I’d give my world to you. 

When I moved away at eight years old, I was sure we’d marry each other someday. I was wrong. 

We still saw each other for birthdays and weddings and funerals. We’d catch up tête-à-tête. I wrapped you up in the palm of my heart, when I met my husband, in a small box that kept you close and far away. Did you hold me in a box in the palm of your heart close and far away? When your heart burst, did you take that package with you? 

I dragged myself from bed just long enough to feed my kids when I heard you were gone. I stumbled back as often as I could for a week. The air was heavier without you here.  I could not catch my breath. I did not want to breathe. It did not matter that I had a husband whom I adored and who loved me back. We were 38 and my heart broke with yours. 

I thank the Grandmother for ushering you in to say good-bye and Sarah May for sending you on your way when it was time to go. I’m pouring the energy that tried to keep you alive with me back into the life I’ve built with my husband.  After fourteen years, I can smile at the sweetness without swallowing the bitters. There’s a place where we’ll catch up some day, tête-à-tête.