So much time has passed yet you are still on my mind.  I know this isn’t a surprise to you, but YOU were a filter through which every experience during my latest trip flowed. I went to Florida.  Your state.  Fort Lauderdale, which really doesn’t host any particular memories of you, yet I can’t help but see a piece of you in every palm tree, in every wave that crashes to the shore, and even in the very sand between my toes.  This is your state.

What made this even more challenging was the trip to Vero Beach.  The last time we were there, we were pondering what it would be like to live there.  We visited builders (even then, I knew I would be the one paying for it if we did move), went to the school district office to personally make sure my resume had been received (as if I stood a chance at that superintendent’s job!), and talked for hours about being there with Jim and Susan as our best friends.

It was hard for me to be there, once again, without you.  The last time I was there, you weren’t there either.  I went with Gwen, right after I left you in Buffalo.  I really thought that I had finally broken free from you.  Although I came back to the house, you and I were still in a state of disrepair.  You knew I wanted you to leave.  You were making plans to close up your life in Minnesota.  When I told you I was going to Florida without you, you were really mad.  Florida was your place, not mine.  You couldn’t understand why I would want to go there.  My simple answer was that I wanted time with Susan and I wanted to clear my mind.  I also wanted to go on a trip without you, something I hadn’t been able to do for five years.

We did not talk about you, I know you are thinking that.  I still was embarrassed that I was being manipulated by you, ashamed to admit that even though I had left you, I really wasn’t going very far. I wanted everyone to think I was finally strong.

That was the last time I talked to Susan.  That was four years ago.  

Four years ago when you came back from your failed attempt at moving to Florida (complete with your trailer, parrot, and yellow Goldwing). 

Three years ago when the relationship became unpredictable, scary, and psychologically unnerving.  

Two years ago from when you killed yourself.  

One year from when I finally started to find my strength again. And I hadn’t told Susan any of this.  After we found their temporary home (thank goodness we did not have to go back to their old, beautiful home and all its memories) in the campground, after the greetings, hugs, a shared glass of wine, Susan and I finally had 15 minutes alone while we walked Teddy.  (Remember when he was a puppy? He was afraid of you, too!). During that 15 minutes, I shared the last four years of my life, your life, our life.  15 minutes. 

I will come back, and I will be able to share more.  I think 15 minutes was all I could handle anyway.  I dreamt about you, but I didn’t tell anyone.  I dreamt that your brother Todd picked me up and we went to a bar.  Your parents were there.  I asked them if they had spoken to you.  They said no.  I clarified, “you know he’s alive, don’t you?” And felt terrible that no one had communicated with them that you hadn’t died.  They said, of course we knew, but he hasn’t talked to us.  Then I woke up.  Once again, there was panic.  What’s real?  I sat up in bed.  Reassured that I was safe in Florida, but not with you.  You really did die.  You really aren’t there anymore.