No Enchiladas

Written the evening of January 23rd, 2014: George's 28th birthday.

When it was time to schedule today’s surgery I had a gut feeling that the first date I was going to be offered was today. I was right. It took me a moment but then I decided that this was the perfect time because I knew he would be with me. I wanted him here. Even as I type from the comfort of my hospital bed, I feel him. Mom is spending the night with me and George is too.

This is the first year since he died that there were no cheese enchiladas on his birthday. It bugs me a little but not too much and I feel that this, right here, is important. Check-in time was 7:45am so I had to get up early and gather the things I would need. The morning was foggy with a mystical sort of glow within it. I didn’t have anyone else to drive me to the hospital, so I drove myself and I asked George to come along. I even cleared off the passenger seat. Even if it wasn’t necessary, it was the polite thing to do. It was the loving thing to do. As I made my way, I could feel him there right next to me, even as I was blasting Melechesh on my stereo, his presence was strong and I felt so at peace. I liked the fact that it was just the two of us. I liked that no one else was around to distract me from his spirit.

George sat with me in the waiting room. He was with me as I was being wheeled into surgery, his presence taking up all the space in the halls. He is with me now. I wanted to bring his little red iPod with me but it no longer works unless it is plugged directly into a wall and my ear buds are no more. That’s okay. I’m enjoying the sounds of the room and the gadgets. I’m enjoying his warmth on my shoulders.

You would have been 28 years old today baby boy. It is so strange that it’s been almost four years since you left that giant body and stretched the enormity of your soul to fill every surrounding space. I don’t know what it is but lately, when I mention how old you would have been, it puts a tiny pinprick in my heart. I guess it’s true that the grieving never stops but my grief for you is more intricate and beautiful than just sadness. Sometimes it still comes in like slivers of ice moving though my veins but it also comes like a warm, soft blanket. It embraces me like your hugs and it always keeps you close. That’s the secret side of grief and I am so glad I tapped into it. I love you George. I love you and I miss you.