A milestone approaches but now it comes to nothing

 

Zach would have turned 35 on Thursday (13 June). As a couple we had quite a bit staked on this year – 35 signalled D-Day for his marriage proposal. Not necessarily the actual day, but the two of us had agreed a few years earlier that by 35 he would have lived enough life, enjoyed enough bachelorhood, to make that commitment to me. I wanted to be married. Heck, I’d finally found a man I could spend a lifetime with -- the appeal of wedded bliss. No more searching for a compatible partner, I’d found him, and with Zachary I could rest. 

Two weeks before Zach died he made the observation while sitting on my couch that “we’re strangers in the face of the law.” Unfortunately despite six years of mutual devotion, he did nothing to rectify this situation (I have a will and he was listed as my primary beneficiary) and thus I’ve been denied the privileges that come with holding that legal certificate. 

Michael, a close friend in LA, tells me the riches come not from material possession, but from having known him. Zach led from the heart. We spent almost every moment together on weekends. The quality time we had. The love. I’m grateful for Michael’s wisdom and sense. I carry the truth of it close and draw on its strength in moments of emotional torture. Any person who’s experienced grief will tell you it’s complicated. The days, weeks and months in the aftermath of Zach’s suicide have been no less than gruelling.

I rage at the fact he’s no longer here. We melded so well together - he was my ultimate 'yes' person. I wanted to go to Dear John’s for their gin martini - yes, to have Italian for dinner - yes, watch this old movie - yes, travel to this place - yes. Yes, yes, yes. And not in a doormat kind of way -- in a way that he genuinely wanted to do those things with me. We took pleasure in our being together. Now I think of things to do, but I’ve lost my favourite person to do them with. Instead I still venture out - but alone. A glass of wine at the local bar after work / alone, a Hollywood Bowl concert / alone, to church on Sundays / alone – each time his absence is acutely felt. 

His memory looms large, his person is still adored. I miss him terribly. He was my great love. That he no longer exists is a pain that sticks on my skin 24/7. Most mornings I wake up like I’ve been hit by a bus, to meet another day with the stark realness of his loss. I rail against it - wish it weren’t so, and chastise him aloud for doing it. But it is how it is. Lady Macbeth, “what’s done cannot be undone.”

***

Happy birthday to you my darling. We had so much riding on this one. 

Photo: a typical weekend - stopping by Gjusta for a bite before heading across to work out at Gold's Gym in Venice, California.