Oh Nashville…the intensity of your presence surprised me even though I thought I had hardened my heart in preparation.  The three years before you died were so horrible, I lost sight of the happy times, the smiles, the real reason we found each other.  Nashville brought all of those memories back. 

Do you ever think about Nashville?  I know you loved it.  Loved the music, the connection with the history of country music, the beauty of the hills.  You really fit there.  In many ways, I thought you fit there better than you ever fit in Florida.  I found myself searching for you as I walked everywhere in Nashville. I “saw” you the first time downtown in the district.  It was July 4th, hot, and we were wearing jeans.  I remember you wore that black muscle shirt that showed your buffalo skull tattoo from Sturgis the year before.  You were so hot, at one point, you wore your skull cap because you were afraid you were going to burn in the sun or melt in the heat.  One of the two.  

I caught the first glimpse of you sitting at the second table from the left as I walked into Tootsies.  We had a drink, probably whiskey, and watched a single guitar-strumming young man trying to find his place in music history.  Three years later,  I am seeing you here again. Sitting at that same table, superimposed against the table of the 25 year old bachelorette party goers.  You looked sad.  Sad that you weren’t here with me 3 years later.  Maybe you were regretting your decision?  I don’t know.  It bothered me to see you like that.

I saw you the second time at Dierk Bentley’s bar, even though we had never gone there.  You were sitting against the wall in a booth, watching the dancers.  Julie and I had a few drinks, scored a table, and met a nice couple.  He was a Navy Seal.  You would have thanked him for his service, bought him drinks, and ultimately had a bonding conversation about your mutual PTSD diagnosis.  I would have sat on the outside and cringed at your attempts to compare your PTSD diagnosis with his.  I would have been embarrassed when you called yourself a cop.

Do you remember how you would grab my hand and make me dance with you when there weren’t others on the dance floor?  I hated that, but this night, I wanted you so badly.  As I watched this Navy Seal pull his wife onto the dance floor, I couldn’t help but desperately wish that you were there to do the same with me.  It’s been so long since I danced.  Dancing was always something that I loved to do with you.  When you died, you took that with you.   All of a sudden, I wanted that joy back.  I wanted to be pulled into your arms, feel your strong shoulders around me, and sway to the music.  I miss your shoulders.  I miss the safety I found there.  

And this is what I was thinking when I was supposed to be enjoying the Nashville nightlife.  This is what I was thinking when I went on my run the next morning.  There isn’t a good place to run at the Gaylord even though I was presented with a nice little handout with a map.  As I did not want to play chicken with oncoming traffic, I mindlessly turned and ran down paths without any idea of where they might lead.  

Would you be surprised if every turn led me to another sighting of you?  I saw you on the stairs at the entry to the Opryland tour.  I saw you by the big guitar in front and even took a selfie in the same place I remembered you being.  When I looked at the picture, I was a little bit surprised not to see you in the background, waving.  I see you standing there, smiling, excited to go inside. When I looked at the picture I took during my run, I could see through the doors at the entryway, where we walked into the show.  I can feel you holding my hand as we found our seats.  I see you running to the front to get pictures of your country idols, including Minnie Pearl and Little Jimmy Dickens.  This is a memory I will always cherish.

Nashville is full of such memories.  I didn’t worry about you in Nashville. I didn’t see your anger in Nashville.  I didn’t think you would kill yourself when we were in Nashville.  I saw a man who was coming back, was healing, happy, forward thinking.  When I think about it and look at the dates, I believed you were in a good place. I believed that happiness was just around the corner for both of us.  I still had high hopes that the divorce that was close to be finalized wouldn’t erode the relationships I had with my kids, and that things would turn around and we would be able to get married, save the farm, and move to Florida after retirement.  

Didn’t turn out that way.  It’s one year, 3 months and almost exactly 25 days from the moment you put the gun against your head and pulled the trigger.  (3:30 is like a daily alarm for me…).  You aren’t sitting next to me.  You aren’t really there anymore.  The emptiness I feel is numbing.