by Tiffany Kildale
He left before I even knew he was going. He left without saying goodbye or anything at all. By the time I grasped what was happening there was nothing I could do or say to change the outcome. Pins and needles of panic stabbed my face, I felt like I was going to throw up. I sat down, put my head in my hands and cried a desperate cry. It was the worst kind of desperation, the desperation that knows he’s not coming back. Hopeless and terrified, for the very first time in my life I didn’t know what to do.
It’s just like me to be crying over a man. It’s happened numerous times before and it’ll happen again. Tears stop as abruptly as they start as I try to comprehend over and over and over in my mind that he’s gone. But this is one time when I don’t beat myself up over my woe is me attitude. This is one time when I don’t try to convince myself “he’s not worth it” or “you’re better than him.” The fact of the matter is I, nor anyone else could ever be better than him.
Answers only bring more questions. Why? Did he know what he was doing? Had he thought about it? Was he scared just like I was scared? Was he crying too? Does he miss me? I’ll never know the answers but damn if those questions don’t keep me up at night. I can only remember the bad. Just when I need the happy, safe memories the most, I can only remember the ones that hurt. All the fights we had, all the times I said things I shouldn’t have, all the times I arrived too late and left too soon. The happy memories are what will get me through this, they’ll make me laugh again, and they’ll let me know that I’m ok. The shelter in his face is overshadowed by the way he looked when I last saw him.
He looked green and transparent. His mouth was open and his eyes were closed. He didn’t have his glasses on. This wasn’t the man I’d seen the day before reading the Sports page of the Post. This wasn’t the man I loved adoringly for 26-years. I didn’t know who this person was but he scared the hell out of me. I didn’t want to touch him, they told me to hold his hand. I didn’t know what to say to him, they told me to be upbeat. All I could think to tell him was that I had managed to fit 6 mini-doughnuts in my mouth at once on a dare earlier in the day and the end result was powdered sugar all over the backseat. I don’t know if I hoped he heard me or not.
Was he disappointed in me because that was all I could think to say to him? I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye. I couldn’t. Those words, what did they mean? Goodbye? He’d been there all my life, where could he possibly be going now? He’ll be there tomorrow and every day after that. He’ll be there to see me get married. He’ll see me have babies. He’ll stay the exact same while I grow up. That’s what he’d done all my life, why change now?
They called it at 11:07 pm. What I feared vividly since I was old enough to understand the concept had occurred. My grandfather had died. And I was there to watch it happen. There’s nowhere else I would have wanted to be. I made lame jokes after the fact. The nurse told me “He went peacefully and didn’t suffer.” “Oh, he was a Redskins fan, he suffered,” I told her. The only person who would have really appreciated that humor was my grandfather. And for the first time I referred to him in the past tense. I sobbed.
I ran from losing one man straight to another. Another man who is sweet and kind and understanding and patient. I ended up at his door the next morning. He was good to me. He let me cry and he let me ask all those questions. He did his best to give me answers, answers that were so matter of fact I believed him. He took my mind off of it for a little while; I clung to the distraction like a raft. The minute I’d let go I’d sink into my thoughts. I didn’t want to be alone and I felt a little less numb falling asleep with his arm around me. One man who could never replace the man that I’d just lost somehow made it hurt a little less. This is when I fell completely and wholly in love with him.
My friends ask me how I’m doing. They check on me like they do after I’ve been dumped. Except this is the worst break-up. It has all the characteristics, completely unexpected and without reason. But I can’t get over this one with a bottle of wine and chain smoking. There is a hole. A bigger hole than I’ve ever felt before. Before I’d always known that it wasn’t the end, there’s something bigger and better on the horizon. This break-up made me feel like I was dancing on the edge of a huge black hole. That black hole will consume me if I think about it too much or for too long. I’ll be lost to it. I have never known pain like this. And leave it to the man who wanted nothing more than to keep me safe and happy to make me feel this way. It’s always the ones you love the most that hurt you the worst.
We bury his remains tomorrow. Sometimes I’m angry because I can’t stop missing him. Sometimes I’m angry because I forget to remember him. He was more than just my grandfather; he was my caretaker and provider. He woke me up from my naps in time to watch my favorite cartoons, he allowed me to give him singing lessons, he made the best sausage and grits. He was consistent and safe. He is the one man I will never get over. But the most painful break-up that I’ve feared all my life has provided me the opportunity to fall in love. The man that I will never get over has led me to one of the best men I’ve ever known. I don’t know how it will end, but my life is greater for knowing him. He records all the crappy television shows I want to watch, and he makes the best pancakes. He isn’t afraid of anything and he’s unfailingly consistent. He’ll never fill the hole, but he’s made the worst break-up hurt a little less.
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