I am on my way to Denver. No memory of you there. Nothing that should stir my unsettled emotions.  I heard a new song by Disturbed yesterday called “Uninvited Guest.”  I bought it and listened to it 17 times (I checked on the iTunes counter) in a row.  I wanted to share it with someone to let them know that THIS is how I feel every day.  THIS is now my normal.  But I don’t know who to share it with.  I don’t know who I could trust with this naked truth.  

I should be sharing it with Paul, but it’s hard. He doesn’t want to hear about you. He is trying so hard to help me move forward. I want to tell him that everything he has done so far IS HELPING ME. Best of all, he is NOT you.  He treats me like I deserve. Honestly, it’s wonderful and I sometimes have to pinch myself that he is real.

You never opened doors, nor carried things for me.  I remember all the times you literally walked in front of me, letting the door close behind you, narrowly missing me.  When I pointed this out to you, your response was to walk faster.  I remember being at the farm for the first time, opening the trunk of my Lexus and expecting you to lift the suitcase out and carry it into the house.  I remember pausing and waiting for you, but you turned your back and walked in the house, leaving me struggling with the weight of a week’s worth of clothes.  That should have been a sign.  That should have been a wake up call.  Why didn’t I pay attention to those? 

I could be sharing it with my long time best friend Sam. You know very little about him because I’ve protected his existence in my life for our entire relationship. I knew you would not understand the relationship I have with this man.  I’m not really sure how to describe what Sam and I have. We’ve known each other since we were both 15 years old. We have an unusual connection via where we grew up that has resulted in him knowing more about me than probably any other human in my life.  If he were gay, I’d call him my best gay friend. But he’s not.  He’s married and lives in across the country. Those facts have always placed constraints on an authentic description of our relationship. I’m not sure how what he and I have impacts my memories of you.  Maybe I should go back to a year ago.

One year ago, Sam and I met in Anaheim. This was only about three months after you died. Yes, you and I were there the previous spring.  Do you remember?  I was at a conference, and you couldn’t let me go by myself.  Ironically, I paid for your flight so you could fly with me, stalk me at my sessions, make sure that I didn’t “meet” someone.  Remember this?  Time for truth here…I did contact with Sam when I was there.  We met for a drink at one of the hotel lobbies near the conference centers.  I skipped a few sessions to see him.  It was a harmless visit, just a hug and somewhat awkward conversation about nothing, especially not the always-present chemistry between the two of us.  I didn’t tell you because of all my friends over the years, he was the one that I did not want you to meet.

Meeting him would have been a mistake.  You would have not missed the connection between us.  You would have reacted to him calling me “Beautiful” and would have accused me of things that were never part of this relationship. I couldn’t take a chance that your paranoia might have jeopardized my relationship with this man.  Not Sam. Had you told me to never contact him again, I wouldn’t have listened to you.  Sam was a line that I would have drawn.

But in Anaheim, we did meet.  For about two hours.  And darn it,  somehow you knew, didn’t you?  Somehow you sensed that this was going to happen. When we walked out the lobby to his car, I glanced to the right and saw you walking by the entry to the hotel.  There is no way you would have been there otherwise.  You were stalking me.  Was I surprised?  Not at all.  Add this example to all the other stories.  I lied to him and steered him away from you.  I think I blamed Martina and said I was trying to avoid her.  This was not the first time I lied to Sam about you.  Like with many of the people in my life, I didn’t want him to see the hidden complexities in our relationship.  I was embarrassed that I was being controlled by you.

So the very next morning after you died, I texted Sam and said, “Oh Sam, my friend, I need you.  Scott shot himself in my garage.”  Several months later, we met again in Minneapolis for a quick dinner, and decided to meet again in Anaheim, where I had yet another conference several weeks later.  I did not foresee the significance of this October encounter.  When he met me in the airport, I felt the pain of the first three months melt away.  Several hours after we ate lunch, walked on Huntington Beach (remember?  We were there, too), drank a Cosmo at a delightful ocean front bar, we were together telling stories and laughing, trying to understand how quickly 30+ years can both disappear and shape a future I don’t think either of us anticipated when we were teenagers. We still talk often by phone and I love that our conversations allow me to leave the reality of your death behind, if only for a few days.