Forgetting

As if I didn't have enough going on, my little brain is worrying that I'll "forget" things.  Not the everyday stuff, the things that went on in my life with Kevin.  I know how stupid that is, and I'm almost positive that is this something everyone goes through after a loss.  It doesn't take away that fear though.

I don't want to forget his stories-some were so funny and some were very sad.  I don't want to lose that mental picture of the first time he played guitar for me.  We were here and he just casually walked out with a guitar in his hand and played "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight" by Bob Dylan.  I hadn't even known that he could play or sing.

There were so many facets to Kevin that so many people never knew.  He didn't share himself easily with people.  He was smart, far smarter than anyone could imagine.  He had the best laugh, straight from the belly.  He was funny, when he actually laughed like that, he would cover his mouth and get this surprised look, like "Is that me?"

He often talked to me about obscure things, things he questioned.  Like love.  He said that he didn't understand what people meant when they said they "loved" someone.  He said that using the word just didn't make it real to him.  He asked the age old question-"What is love?"  I think, because of his illness and mine, that he did finally understand what love truly is.

He absolutely could not stand it when people said "I love you" as a good-by.  It drove him nuts.  That and using the word awesome to describe something miniscule.  He always liked Garth Brook's interpretation of what awesome was and yes, I think he would describe Shania Twain as awesome-especially if she had a note from me :)

Or the time he was in the outhouse (pre-plumbing days) and there was a bird that has a call that sounds like "birdie, birdie, birdie" and he finally yelled out "I know you're a goddamn birdie, shut up!"

The time he rescued a little blue bird from the cat, tossed it in the outhouse to keep it safe from Eb and the little bird promptly flew down the hole.  Guess what, he tilted the outhouse back and got that little blue bird out of the...well, you know.

See, I don't want to lose the little things. 

Then there are all those things I didn't do.  Things I didn't say or in my mind, say often enough.  Things I could have done differently or better.  

Grumpy old Swedish fart-face that he was.  I miss him and wonder sometimes, how I can get through without him.

I wander, looking, searching, wanting that connection again.  Wanting him to just come home to me.