I went to the Medina ballroom on Saturday with Paul and my daughter’s in-laws. I’ve been there many times since your death and never had the same reaction that I did this time. Maybe it was because I was sitting in between several of your old friends.  Maybe it was  the smell of Grant’s cologne that brought back the unwelcomed memory-related feelings.  Grant has been wearing the same cologne as long as I’ve known him and it has been both a comforting and at times, repulsive smell depending on the memory it is associated with.  Tonight, it brought vivid flashbacks of the Halloween party and the annual CRT holiday gatherings. 

Remember that night?  You and I had to dress up in costumes…I hate costumes and we managed to use things we already had to create a steampunk-themed combination. We took a few pictures and for some reason, those pictures are still floating around and seem to surface either on the anniversary of your death or Halloween. Anyway,  the girls in the club wanted you to dress in a suit and be part of their minion themed costumes.  I’m glad you didn’t as I would have been left out and that really would have felt really strange. What does it say when the girls want you to be part of their costume competition and it doesn’t include me?

All that aside, you were there at the Medina Ballroom on Saturday night and I haven’t felt your presence like that in a long time. I SAW you superimposed on the back table, your larger-than-life personality filling the space and your steampunk costume adding the extra flair. We were at the same table to the right of the bar for the CRT holiday party. I cowered in the corner, likely had my chair pushed back as I surveyed this interesting group of people.  You had just started to associate yourselves with them and I immediately felt like I was an intrusion on your good time.  The girls in the group would now realize that you were “taken” (does that word ever apply to you?) and the threat to you would be that they would no longer pay you any attention.  

You shouldn’t have worried about that. I preferred being in the shadow of your personality. 

I looked across at the dance floor and remembered dancing with you.  I could SEE you there, superimposed against the rowdy crowd trying to dance to the 80s bands as if they were teenagers again.  You would have been in the middle of them and loving every minute of it. But when I SAW you there on Saturday night, you just looked forlorn, as if you knew you were missing out on something.  Maybe you saw Grant and Casey and this made you long for the days when you were alive and could ride with them. Maybe you saw me and my husband and this made you sad/mad/regretful of your decision to leave this earth and all the fun it held for you. I won’t ever know and the speculation doesn’t soothe me.  

But you were still there.  I saw you in your halloween costume, in your leather “Live to Ride” jacket, in your expensive Rock button down shirts. Your clothes morphed as if they were moving through the memories like I was. Your face was changing, but I couldn’t tell if it was aging or if my memory was fading. Lucky you.  You get frozen at age 55. I just keep getting older, collecting more wrinkles and more weight. You will always look good.

Your daughter contacted me yesterday and I haven’t talked to her in years.  She is having problems with your grandson, who is now in 3rd grade.  He is throwing tantrums and has severe anxiety and ADHD. She wanted to know if I remembered you having the same issues at his age.  I can’t remember your parents or you ever saying you had issues with your temper, although I saw it as an adult.  I know you were diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and ADHD as an adult, but couldn’t answer her questions about her childhood.  

I took a deep breath though, and typed back that I would be willing to meet with her to talk about him. Truthfully, it will feel good to see her again even though those memories might be difficult.  I am so seldom with people who want to talk about you.  It will feel good to be able to say your name out loud.  It will probably feel good to talk about you too.  I will likely need to decompress and will do so by writing a letter to you. 

One more thing:  It’s 10 days before Christmas.  I do not intend on thinking about you for the next two weeks.  Please leave me alone out of any respect you might still have for me.  I would like to enjoy my time without being haunted by your ghosts of Christmas past…