On a Tuesday

Dearest Bibs,

I can’t believe it’s been a year since that awful day when such a light was taken from this world, when the "bad vase" finally broke, when all the oxygen left the room. What I wouldn't give to see your face/ receive a new selfie/ hear that beloved, raspy voice/ share a laugh/ feel your love once more. So much has happened that I wish I could tell you about. Maybe you already know. Good news: my heart is still beating. But you knew, you always knew, I had it in me. That’s what you’ve been trying to tell me every day. Don’t stop—you know how forgetful I can be. 

Neeta and I took a perfect mini-vacay to PR earlier this year. That little island, Isla Palominito, was where Jack sparrow left Angelica. I thought it pretty apropos that you chose that moment, sitting at the very tip, waves rolling in from both sides, to let me feel your presence. Thanks for stopping by to hang out with me for a bit. You have no idea how much that meant to me. 

I had planned to visit Recife for your 1-year: meet your family, hug your mother tight, embarrass myself with my terrible/non-existent Portuguese, spend time with Alice, celebrate with your friends, maybe attempt to surf, hold your beautiful baby. Of course Rafaela would share the same birthday as my favorite person. (He’s doing better, by the way. We’ve all been through a lot in the past year, but he continues to make me proud.) 

But... I’m not ready. 

I was even tempted by ridiculously cheap flights, yet I couldn’t do it. I know you’re not mad, but I hope you’re not too disappointed. BroTan said that he thinks I’ll be “emotionally ready when it is the right time.” The force is strong with this one. 

Timing was never my strong suit. I wish I knew when I’ll stop waiting to hear that familiar WhatsApp “ping”; for you to wake me up and tell me this was all just a bad dream. It is Tuesday, poker night (of course, I remember). You’ll Skype me after everyone has gone home, tell me about your day, your earnings (and how you’ll buy me some magnets), plans for the future. Of course, now, you would have responsibilities and obligations—I know I never told you this, but you’d be the most amazing father. And we will continue living our lives, fearless and loving as much as humanly possible. And so, life goes on. 

I know; I've got this. 

It’s been a long year, without you my friend, and I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again. 

xVan