Authors note: Welcome to Day 12 of 12 Days of Christmas!

This second article is part of a series of works cataloging my journey through grief--The anger, the loss, the sadness, the denial, bargaining, and eventually, the acceptance and hope that comes with it. This one is about the denial. If you've ever had a hard time just coming to grips with the reality of a loss, I’m sure you’ll relate with the back and forth in and out of reality with this one.. Drop a comment and let me know what you think and what parts you most identify with.

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I don’t want to admit that I still miss you. I don’t want to admit that every now and then I still open that one drawer that has your shirt in it, just to see if it still smells like you. 

Because we both knew it wasn’t going to be forever. And I don’t even know what I’m really missing. Whether it was just lying next to you, or staying up late talking about the difference between being silly vs goofy. Or whether it was just knowing you were there. 

Was it worth it?

Or maybe I just miss having you as a friend. It makes me wonder if it was all worth it, if we lost the friendship, too. 

But I guess there was no real way to keep it from happening. The connection was just too intense.

I miss having someone to tell the nonsense of my day. Someone who would get the absurdity of it all and make me feel seen and heard and understood, even in those smallest insignificant parts. 

Wanting to talk about the small moments

Like tonight. I started letting Luca lick my plate again. I used to let her do it a few years ago, and then I stopped, figuring I should act RESPONSIBLE or something. But lately, I’ve been realizing she’s getting older. She’s not an adventure dog like she used to be. She’s barely up for a long walk around the block. So I figure, if my dinner crumbs bring her such wide-eyed, tail-wagging joy, I should just let her. 

I’m sure you’d ask a million follow up questions like, “Does she push the plate all around the room as she’s licking it?” And I’d say how smart she is to put her paw on it to keep it from moving and how proud I am of her for it. And I’d make fun of you for asking all these stupid detailed questions and you'd say that’s just how your brain works.

Secretly I’d love it and feel that weird feeling that someone actually cared about the silly details of my life. And something about that would be beautiful, and it would be sad, too. Because I’d realize what a new feeling that is. And how I’ve gone so long without ever feeling that kind of love before. It’s beautiful and it’s sad and it’s just a lot.

Who would I tell now?

Who would I tell about something so inconsequential as that now? The updated eating habits of your dog isn’t quite something you call a friend about. But you’d probably be so excited to hear about it. And now it feels like all these moments just kind of die with me being the only one who knows about it. You just made life feel a little more full, I guess. And it feels a little more empty since you left. 

I should be happy for you, right?

And now you’re married. I should be happy for you, right? I think I’m happy for you? Actually, I don’t know. It seems like this should be easy, because I never thought we’d be forever, and I was always clear about that. And yet you still planned 20 steps ahead and I’d want to take 2 steps back. So it got hard to sync up sometimes. 

Anyway. The future, more emotionally balanced and healed version of me is glad you found your person. I’m glad you’re happy. I mean, I hope you’re happy…are you happy? Don’t answer that. It’s none of my business. Anymore. 

I’m happy…or whatever

Well, I’m happy. Or whatever. I’ve got lots of good things happening. Things I’m working really hard for and the train is moving and it feels good and I don’t need you to see it. I don’t need you to be proud of me. I’m proud of me. But man. It’d just be nice. If I could share a moment of that with you. Because you saw how hard it all was for me to get things off the ground. Back when they were still baby ideas, like babies with the soft spot still on their heads. 

But sometimes I still wonder if you think of me. I don’t want to know the answer. There’s no good answer. It all hurts and there’s no way out. 

The picture you took of me

I don’t want to admit that I’m still grieving you. Or us. Or whatever IT was. I want to pretend like I’m over and done and logical because we both knew we weren’t signing up for anything but for a season. 

I just, I loved the way you saw me. I liked what you saw. Cause it was the closest someone’s seen in me what I see in myself. 

I love this picture you took of me when we went whale watching. I was so giddy. I was screaming like a little girl every time I saw one of those huge beasts pop out of the water. I felt so alive, so free. 

Bringing out my giddyness

I don’t think I’ve been as giddy with anyone as I was with you. You had a knack for pulling out my silly side. I guess I get scared that there won’t be someone else to pull it out the same way. 

But I try to let it out. I guess I’ve been letting it out more since we’ve been together and not together. 

There’s a video I wanted to send you of me with my friends where for no good reason at all I corralled the group to help me achieve a physical feat of excellence I saw someone do on Instagram. Funny enough, I was the sober one of the crew. 

So I guess the silliness still lives on. It still comes out. 

If you saw it you’d probably roll your eyes with a “duh, there you go again” like you were not surprised in the least. I’d secretly love it. To be known in that way, that even peak moments of tomfoolery are to be expected.

I just miss you. Sometimes. A lot of times. 

I liked that I could be someone to hold space for you in your tough moments. And to also remind you to bring your epipen whenever we were going out. And to be the advocate for your allergies to be taken seriously whenever we were at a restaurant. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know. Thank you for teaching me that. 

I wouldn’t take it back

And if I could, I still wouldn’t take it back. 

Grief is the price we pay for love, they say. And I did love you. And I still have love for you. Not in a romantic “I want you back” kind of way. Just as a human who got to see into the depths of another beautiful human. Just, it was beautiful, what we got to share. And I know it had to end, I knew it had to, eventually. But it was still worth taking the ride with you. I think. 

I just wish I could still tell you about Lou. Or whatever. 

They say we grieve in proportion to the love we had. And well, I guess I loved you more than I realized.