Tonight is different.
I miss him. I miss everything about him tonight. The tight knot of grief in my chest is still there, but it doesn’t hurt right now. I know it will be back, and it will grow and overwhelm me, but right now, it’s letting me breathe. It’s letting me just calmly miss the fuck out of him.
My housemates and I were sharing war stories of our lives earlier tonight and talking about the unbelievable stories we have. No middle America-work going-tv watching boring lives here. We’ve all dealt with crazy shit that makes it amazing we are here at all. That’s when the phrase jumped into my head, “My Year with Rupert.” I could collect all our stories from hanging out when we were 19 years old, how we reconnected at 44, our ridiculous adventures together, and his tragic death at 45. What I learned from him. How easy it was to be together. How happy we were to just be in the same room. The weird Grateful Dead connection. The depth of trust from the shared grief of Alexius’s death in 2005. The outside pressure from other people to try and tear us apart which only caused us to lean in more. Who knows, it may just be masturbation, or it may be an amazing way to process and heal, and it may be a useful self help book. It may also be a discipline I won’t make time for. Or maybe I’ve already started it here two weeks ago.
I miss the fuck out of Rupert.