Well, not just tonight. Every night. And every day.
Your birthday is next week. You would have been 31, and close to the same number of weeks pregnant, roughly. You should be big and full of baby right now, bitching about weird areola changes, heartburn and braxton-hicks contractions. You should still be veto'ing the names Nik suggests and painting the nursery. You would know if you had a he or a she in there by now. You should be counting up when your maternity leave might start and how many weeks you will get to take off after s/he is born. You should be having baby showers - including one here hosted by me. Duckies. I was going to do "duckies" for your shower theme. Little cute baby duckies, and I was going to have E make you a diaper cake. I was going to do lots of things.
None of that is happening. And frankly I'm still pretty pissed about it. The whole fucking thing is ridiculous, and I know you thought the same thing when it happened. I pity the first person you saw when you crossed over, and think it's pretty ironic and hi-larious that I know you said "Oh, somebody's gonna DIE up in this motherfucker! Y'all can eat a dick STRAIGHT up because I am NOT supposed to be here!" I know you. I am close on this one.
There are still days I just ache to talk to you. There are things that happen, things I hear and see and discover, that I was supposed to share with you. I can almost SEE the holes in my life now - things that would have been topics in our long weekly phone calls, things we would have laughed about til we cried, things that would have started with "Oh, you don't even KNOW..." and "OK, lemme just tell ya..." And as blessed as I am with so many wonderful people in my life, people who love me, support me and care for me, there are just some things that were meant for us. You. And. Me. And I can't help but feel TOTALLY screwed over every damn time one of those things comes up.
There is no way to get over losing you. There is no way to stop hurting, I can see that now. The days that add up between my crying fits become more numerous with each month that goes by, but it's just scar tissue, not healing. When the pain wells up and spills out, it's just as piercing and difficult as the day Nik called and choked out the words that would change me forever. I find myself avoiding your memorial site for days at a time, only because it's just too painful. And then I am drawn there, like a moth to the flame, as they say. It hurts and it sucks and it's like having to acknowledge your death all over again.
There is no "but at least", no silver lining, no beautiful resolution that gives me peace in losing you. I don't think there ever will be. Your life was ripped away from you, and you were ripped away from us. For no reason. None. And I lack the ability to make any sense of it, and feel certain that I always will.
"I miss you" seems so horribly inadequate. "I love you" is true but too simplistic. "This sucks and I fucking hate every second of it" seems much more genuine and true. And yet I do miss you, and I do love you. Always will, honey. Come visit me some night again soon, OK?