OpenDoors: Weakness

Monday, February 26, 2007

Weakness

I don’t know how to write these things; how to make sense of things myself, much less make sense of it for other people.

It’s been more than two weeks since Casey and I last spent a night together, our bodies hugged close. It’s been more than one week since I’ve seen him.

I don’t want to ever be apart this long again. I don’t remember the last time I’ve truly smiled.

On Friday I left a small vase of fresh daisies and a card on the counter at Casey’s loft. Early Saturday morning I hopped on a plane for a few days of working in DC. I would much rather have been in Minneapolis, as I expected Casey to arrive on Sunday after a long drive from Houston.

The last day I saw him, when he was in the hospital, I mentioned with sadness that I probably would be in DC when he returned. He cried and said, “Let’s just pretend you’ll be there waiting for me when I return.”

He still hasn’t made it back home. He’s at his parents house an hour and a half from Minneapolis and today he said he isn’t sure when he’ll be back home. Tomorrow – Tuesday – when I return from DC I will go to his loft and remove the daisies. They probably are wilted by now.

I will be there for him when he returns.

There are times when I can’t speak. My throat has a permanent knot.

Does he feel the same way I do? No. I have him to focus on. He has much more.

It’s hard to think of anything else when I’m in so much pain,” he said today.

“I can help!” I almost said. Or maybe I did say it before realizing that I was thinking magically. I believe that my body can heal his with just a simple, gentle touch. I’ve always believed that. I want to be close to him and to breathe with him, to draw the pain from his body and diffuse it through mine. Nothing feels impossible as long as I can see him. The only part I can’t handle is the way it is now. Aloneness.

He isn’t ready to come back to Minneapolis because he is worried about being home by himself during the day.

I worry about that, too. I want to tell him that I will work from home and cook him soup and he can sleep in bed while I work on my computer and make occasional phone calls. I imagine it in my head. But I don’t know if he wants to hear that, I don’t want to pressure him into doing what he’s not comfortable with, so I keep it in.

I also am worried about myself being home alone at night. It is selfish. I am lonely. I miss watching Brothers and Sisters on Sundays and working on our computers on the sofa and eating ice cream with crushed peanut butter M&M’s on top and taking bubble baths in a cocoon of softly popping bubbles that sound like rain falling off the eaves. It is quiet now. I miss his arms.

I’ve held all of this in for the last two weeks. At least that long.

Does he feel the same way I do? Does he want me there? Will we get through this? Will I get through this? The only possible answer for this last question is yes, but sometimes it’s so hard to get out of bed and to think clearly. Am I selfish for feeling this way? I don’t have cancer.

I don’t know what to talk about on the phone. My eyes miss looking at his. I find it impossible to talk about daily activities when all I can think about is, When can I see you??? Let me be there for you. You are not just my boyfriend. You are part of me. I don’t know how that happened except that I let it and you have.

In the morning I might regret writing this.

Posted by Aaron on February 26, 2007 10:44 PM